e
mistake."

He said it formally and gravely, and in a particularly icy tone of
voice; but Lesley was for the moment satisfied. She went back to her
writing-desk and took up her pen. She had already written a couple of
sheets, but in them her father's name had scarcely been mentioned. Now,
however, she wrote:--

"You may be wondering, dearest mamma, why I am writing to you in
this way, because you told me that I must not write, and I have put
off my explanation until almost the end. I could not bear to be
without your letters any longer, and to-day I said so to my father.
I could not help telling him, because I was so miserable. And he
wishes me to tell you that it was all a mistake, and he is very
sorry; he never meant to put a stop to our writing to each other,
and he is very, _very_ sorry that we thought so." Lesley's version
was not so dignified as her father had intended it to be. "He was
terribly distressed when he found out that I was not writing to
you; and called himself all sorts of names--a tyrant and an ogre,
and asked what we must have thought of him! He was really very much
grieved about it, and never meant us to leave off writing. So now I
shall write as often as I please, and you, dearest mamma, will
write to me too.

"There is one thing I must say, darling mother, and you will not be
angry with me for saying it, will you? I think father must be
different now from what he was in the old days; or else--perhaps
there _may_ have been a mistake about him, such as there has been
about the letters! For he is so clever and gentle and kind--a
little sarcastic now and then, but always good! The poor people at
the Club (which I told you about in the last sheet) just adore him;
and they say that he has saved many of them from worse than death.
And you never told me about his book, dear mamma--'The Unexplored.'
It is such a beautiful book--surely you think so, although you
think ill of the writer? Of course you have read it? I have read it
four times, I think; and I want to ask him about some parts of it,
but I have never dared--I don't think he even knows that I have
read it. It has gone through more than twelve editions, and has
been translated into French and German, so you _must_ have seen it.
And Mr. Kenyon says it sells by thousands in America.

"I