ded him; his honest heart
could not have swelled before her with a deeper pity, or a purer freedom
from all base remembrance than it did then.

'My gracious me! You are really the last person in the world I should
have thought of seeing, I am sure!'

Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old manner. He had not
expected that. Yet he did not feel it a contradiction that he should be
sorry to see her so unlike her old self, and sorry at the same time
to hear her speaking in her old manner. The two things seemed quite
natural.

'I wonder you find any gratification in coming to see me. I can't think
what put it in your head. I never had much in seeing you. There was no
love lost between us, Mr Pinch, at any time, I think.'

Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofa, and she was very busy with the
ribbons as she spoke. Much too busy to be conscious of the work her
fingers did.

'We never quarrelled,' said Tom.--Tom was right in that, for one person
can no more quarrel without an adversary, than one person can play at
chess, or fight a duel. 'I hoped you would be glad to shake hands with
an old friend. Don't let us rake up bygones,' said Tom. 'If I ever
offended you, forgive me.'

She looked at him for a moment; dropped her bonnet from her hands;
spread them before her altered face, and burst into tears.

'Oh, Mr Pinch!' she said, 'although I never used you well, I did believe
your nature was forgiving. I did not think you could be cruel.'

She spoke as little like her old self now, for certain, as Tom
could possibly have wished. But she seemed to be appealing to him
reproachfully, and he did not understand her.

'I seldom showed it--never--I know that. But I had that belief in you,
that if I had been asked to name the person in the world least likely to
retort upon me, I would have named you, confidently.'

'Would have named me!' Tom repeated.

'Yes,' she said with energy, 'and I have often thought so.'

After a moment's reflection, Tom sat himself upon a chair beside her.

'Do you believe,' said Tom, 'oh, can you think, that what I said just
now, I said with any but the true and plain intention which my words
professed? I mean it, in the spirit and the letter. If I ever offended
you, forgive me; I may have done so, many times. You never injured or
offended me. How, then, could I possibly retort, if even I were stern
and bad enough to wish to do it!'

After a little while she thanked him, through her tears an