nd ask his pardon; but hitherto she
had asked pardon of no human being. There was an effort in the doing
of it which she could not at once get over. Had his eyes looked
tenderly on her for a moment, had one soft tone fallen from his lips,
she would have done it. Down she would have gone and implored his
pardon. And who that he had once loved had ever asked aught in vain
from George Bertram? Ah, that she had done so! How well they might
have loved each other! What joy there might have been!

But there was nothing tender in his eye, no tender tone softened the
words which fell from his mouth.

"What!" he said, and in spite of his promise, his voice had never
before sounded so stern,--"what! show that letter to another man;
show that letter to Mr. Harcourt! Is that true, Caroline?"

A child asks pardon from his mother because he is scolded. He wishes
to avert her wrath in order that he may escape punishment. So also
may a servant of his master, or an inferior of his superior. But when
one equal asks pardon of another, it is because he acknowledges and
regrets the injury he has done. Such acknowledgment, such regret
will seldom be produced by a stern face and a harsh voice. Caroline,
as she looked at him and listened to him, did not go down on her
knees--not even mentally. Instead of doing so, she remembered her
dignity, and wretched as she was at heart, she continued to seat
herself without betraying her misery.

"Is that true, Caroline? I will believe the charge against you from
no other lips than your own."

"Yes, George; it is true. I did show your letter to Mr. Harcourt." So
stern had he been in his bearing that she could not condescend even
to a word of apology.

He had hitherto remained standing; but on hearing this he flung
himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Even then she
might have been softened, and he might have relented, and all might
have been well!

"I was very unhappy, George," she said; "that letter had made me very
unhappy, and I hardly knew where to turn for relief."

"What!" he said, jumping up and flashing before her in a storm of
passion to which his former sternness had been as nothing--"what!
my letter made you so unhappy that you were obliged to go to Mr.
Harcourt for relief! You appealed for sympathy from me to him! from
me who am--no, who was, your affianced husband! Had you no idea of
the sort of bond that existed between you and me? Did you not know
that there were