mere
craving for pardon was so painful! It was only yesterday morning that I
was thinking it might, at least, come in the other world.'

'The pardon I was begging Violet to seek for me!--I trusted to obtain
that, though I little hoped--'

'But indeed, Percy, we must write our letters, or the children will be
upon us again.'

Her letter was more easily written than Percy's. He wrote, and tore up,
and considered, and talked to her, and wished John was at home, and said
that Lord Martindale would be perfectly justified in withdrawing his
consent, and declaring him a presumptuous wretch.

'What! when you have rescued his son? No, indeed, papa knows you too
well! I have no fears: for though he is not aware of the cost of what
you did for Arthur, he is most grateful for what he does know of; he
thinks you saved his life, and even without that, he is too kind to me
to do what--I could not bear.'

'I will try to believe you.'

'I was thinking that this is just retribution on me, that whereas I led
Arthur into temptation, this debt should be the obstacle.'

Perhaps nothing gratified him more than to hear her speak of the loan
as if she participated in the loss, not as if she viewed it from the
Martindale side of the question, and felt it too much of an obligation.

His letter was not written till just in time for the post, and it
travelled in the same cover with hers. Till the answer arrived he was
very anxious, came little to the house, and only put on his cheerful air
before Arthur, whose spirits could not afford to be lowered.
Theodora was secure. She knew that she deserved that there should be
difficulties; but at the same time she had the sense that the tide
had turned. Pardon had come, and with it hope; and though she tried to
school herself to submit to disappointment, she could not expect it. She
knew she might trust to her father's kind unworldly temper and sense
of justice, now that he was left to himself. And when the letter came,
Percy brought it in triumph under the shade of the old green umbrella,
which hitherto he had not dared to produce.

Lord Martindale said everything affectionate and cordial. If he grieved
at the unpromising prospect, he was wise enough to know it was too late
to try to thwart an attachment which had survived such shocks; and he
only dwelt on his rejoicing that, after all her trials, his daughter
should have merited the restoration of the affection of one whom he
esteemed so highl