India? Still no answer. I must then naturally suppose that it
is not the first time. Still no reply. Julia Mannering, will you have the
kindness to answer me? Was it this young man who came under your window
and conversed with you during your residence at Mervyn Hall? Julia, I
command--I entreat you to be candid.'

Miss Mannering raised her head. 'I have been, sir--I believe I am
still--very foolish; and it is perhaps more hard upon me that I must meet
this gentleman, who has been, though not the cause entirely, yet the
accomplice, of my folly, in your presence.' Here she made a full stop.

'I am to understand, then,' said Mannering, 'that this was the author of
the serenade at Mervyn Hall?'

There was something in this allusive change of epithet that gave Julia a
little more courage. 'He was indeed, sir; and if I am very wrong, as I
have often thought, I have some apology.'

'And what is that?' answered the Colonel, speaking quick, and with
something of harshness.

'I will not venture to name it, sir; but (she opened a small cabinet, and
put some letters into his hands) I will give you these, that you may see
how this intimacy began, and by whom it was encouraged.'

Mannering took the packet to the window--his pride forbade a more distant
retreat. He glanced at some passages of the letters with an unsteady eye
and an agitated mind; his stoicism, however, came in time to his
aid--that philosophy which, rooted in pride, yet frequently bears the
fruits of virtue. He returned towards his daughter with as firm an air as
his feelings permitted him to assume.

'There is great apology for you, Julia, as far as I can judge from a
glance at these letters; you have obeyed at least one parent. Let us
adopt a Scotch proverb the Dominie quoted the other day--"Let bygones be
bygones, and fair play for the future." I will never upbraid you with
your past want of confidence; do you judge of my future intentions by my
actions, of which hitherto you have surely had no reason to complain.
Keep these letters; they were never intended for my eye, and I would not
willingly read more of them than I have done, at your desire and for your
exculpation. And now, are we friends? Or rather, do you understand me?'

'O, my dear, generous father,' said Julia, throwing herself into his
arms, 'why have I ever for an instant misunderstood you?'

'No more of that, Julia,' said the Colonel; 'we have both been to blame.
He that is too proud to vin