ved each other? There was horror here,
remorse, pity, perhaps pardon; but there was no love,--none of that
love which is always for a time increased in its fervour by the loss
of the loved object; none of that passionate devotion which must at
first make the very idea of another man's love intolerable. There
had been a great escape,--an escape which could not but be inwardly
acknowledged, however little prone the tongue might be to confess it.
Of course there must be time;--but how much time? He argued it in his
mind daily, and at each daily argument the time considered by him to
be appropriate was shortened. Three months had passed and he had not
yet seen her. He had resolved that he would not even attempt to see
her till her father should consent. But surely a period had passed
sufficient to justify him in applying for that permission. And then
he bethought himself that it would be best in applying for that
permission to tell everything to Mr. Wharton. He well knew that
he would be telling no secret. Mr. Wharton knew the state of his
feelings as well as he knew it himself. If ever there was a case in
which time might be abridged, this was one; and therefore he wrote
his letter,--as follows:--

3, ---- Court, Temple, 24th July, 187--.

MY DEAR MR. WHARTON,

It is a matter of great regret to me that we should see
so little of each other,--and especially of regret that I
should never now see Emily.

I may as well rush into the matter at once. Of course this
letter will not be shown to her, and therefore I may write
as I would speak if I were with you. The wretched man whom
she married is gone, and my love for her is the same as
it was before she had ever seen him, and as it has always
been from that day to this. I could not address you
or even think of her as yet, did I not know that that
marriage had been unfortunate. But it has not altered her
to me in the least. It has been a dreadful trouble to us
all,--to her, to you, to me, and to all connected with us.
But it is over, and I think that it should be looked back
upon as a black chasm which we have bridged and got over,
and to which we need never cast back our eyes.

I have no right to think that, though she might some day
love another man, she would, therefore, love me; but I
think that I have a right to try, and I know that I should
have your good-will. It is a question of time, but if I