ard, for she and I
have been together many years; and although I believe that in resigning
her to you I put the seal upon her future happiness, I find it needs an
effort.'

He pressed her tenderly to his bosom, and after a minute's pause,
resumed:

'I have done you wrong, sir, and I ask your forgiveness--in no common
phrase, or show of sorrow; but with earnestness and sincerity. In the
same spirit, I acknowledge to you both that the time has been when
I connived at treachery and falsehood--which if I did not perpetrate
myself, I still permitted--to rend you two asunder.'

'You judge yourself too harshly,' said Edward. 'Let these things rest.'

'They rise in judgment against me when I look back, and not now for
the first time,' he answered. 'I cannot part from you without your full
forgiveness; for busy life and I have little left in common now, and
I have regrets enough to carry into solitude, without addition to the
stock.'

'You bear a blessing from us both,' said Emma. 'Never mingle thoughts of
me--of me who owe you so much love and duty--with anything but undying
affection and gratitude for the past, and bright hopes for the future.'

'The future,' returned her uncle, with a melancholy smile, 'is a bright
word for you, and its image should be wreathed with cheerful hopes. Mine
is of another kind, but it will be one of peace, and free, I trust, from
care or passion. When you quit England I shall leave it too. There are
cloisters abroad; and now that the two great objects of my life are set
at rest, I know no better home. You droop at that, forgetting that I am
growing old, and that my course is nearly run. Well, we will speak of it
again--not once or twice, but many times; and you shall give me cheerful
counsel, Emma.'

'And you will take it?' asked his niece.

'I'll listen to it,' he answered, with a kiss, 'and it will have its
weight, be certain. What have I left to say? You have, of late, been
much together. It is better and more fitting that the circumstances
attendant on the past, which wrought your separation, and sowed between
you suspicion and distrust, should not be entered on by me.'

'Much, much better,' whispered Emma.

'I avow my share in them,' said Mr Haredale, 'though I held it, at the
time, in detestation. Let no man turn aside, ever so slightly, from the
broad path of honour, on the plausible pretence that he is justified by
the goodness of his end. All good ends can be worked out by goo