ay depend upon it the
fault's on his side. Mebbe he's done something dreadful."

So things got whispered around, not very much to the credit of Mr.
Aubrey, but after Mrs. Dartle's rebuff no one dared question Miss
Linton, knowing her so well.

Day succeeded day, and no one knew the bitterness that filled Miss
Linton's heart so full that it seemed as if it must burst. Then came a
letter from Philip. "Shall I open it? No, I will send it back. That he
should dare to write again!" One mail followed another, and still the
letter was unsent, was unopened. At last, after a fortnight had passed,
her good sense got the better of her ill-feeling, and she said to
herself, "I will at least see what he can say for himself in excuse. I
need not answer it." So she opened it, and read as follows:

BROOKSIDE, October 8, 1872.

MY MUCH-ABUSED COUSIN: I dare not even _hope_ that you will not return
this unopened. But if you do open it I hope you may read what I have to
say without _too_ bitter feelings. Where shall I commence to tell you my
story?

You know what you said in regard to "making up" news, and one day as I
was out riding my horse _did_ land me at my own fence in the way I
described. For weeks I lay on a bed of the most excruciating torture.
Then I began to recover, and although I was confined to a sofa my
faculties were on the alert, and I was pretty nearly distracted for
something to do to amuse myself with. Finally, a brilliant idea struck
me, and you were the victim of its execution. Believe me, believe me,
Bessie dear, I only meant it for the harmless amusement of a week or
two, but I became so interested in your letters to my imaginary friend
that I could not bear to give them up. I had, Bessie, as I told you,
learned to love you from your letters. They were so precious to me, it
seemed like tearing from me a part of my very life to think of letting
you know how I had deceived you, and so closing all the correspondence
(which meant so much to me) between us. You will say I was cowardly. I
_was_: I know it, and I admit it. But, Bessie, Bessie, I loved you so!
Let my love plead for me. I thought it would be easier for me to tell
you face to face. But God knows the hardest task I ever set myself was
telling you how I had deceived you.

Bessie, don't cast me off! Can't you find a little corner in your heart
wherein I may rest? Let me be your cousin: of course I dare not hope
ever to be any