sin was the one which could not be
forgiven.

What should she now do with herself,--how bear herself at this
present moment of her life? She did not tell herself now that she
would die, though as she looked forward into life all was so dreary
to her, that she would fain have known that death would give an
escape. But there were duties for her still to do. During that winter
ramble, she owned to herself for the first time that her father had
been right in his judgment respecting their cousin, and that she, by
her pertinacity, had driven her father on till on her account he had
been forced into conduct which was distasteful to him. She must own
to her father that he had been right; that the man, though she dearly
loved him still, was of such nature that it would be quite unfit that
she should marry him. There might still be the miracle; her prayers
were still her own to give; of them she would say nothing to her
father. She would simply confess to him that he had been right, and
then beg of him to pardon her the trouble she had caused him.

"Papa," she said to him the following morning, "may I come to you?"
She came in, and on this occasion sat down at his right hand. "Of
course, you have been right, Papa," she said.

"We have both been right, dearest, I hope."

"No, Papa; I have been wrong! I thought I knew him, and I did not. I
thought when you told me that he was so bad, that you were believing
false people; and, Papa, I know now that I should not have loved him
as I did;--so quickly, like that."

"Nobody has blamed you for a moment. Nobody has thought of blaming
you."

"I blame myself enough; I can tell you that. I feel as though I had
in a way destroyed myself."

"Do not say that, my darling."

"You will let me speak now; will you not, Papa? I wish to tell you
everything, that you may understand all that I feel. I shall never
get over it."

"You will, dearest; you will, indeed."

"Never! Perhaps I shall live on; but I feel that it has killed me for
this world. I don't know how a girl is to get over it when she has
said that she has loved any one. If they are married, then she does
not want to get over it; but if they are not,--if he deserts her, or
is unworthy, or both,--what can she do then, but just go on thinking
of it till--she dies?"

Sir Harry used with her all the old accustomed arguments to drive
such thoughts out of her head. He told her how good was God to His
creatures, and, specially, how