ver, and see that there was nothing harsh or cruel,--nothing I would
not say in cold blood; for oh, Tony! I will avow it was hard to forgive
her; no, I don't mean that, but it was hard to bring myself to believe
I had lost her forever. For a while I thought the best thing I could do
was to comfort myself by thinking how false she was, and I took out all
her letters, to convince me of her duplicity; but what do you think I
found? They all showed me, what I never saw till then, that she was only
going to be my wife out of a sort of resignation; that the grief and
fretting of her poor father at leaving her penniless in the world was
more than she could bear; and that to give him the comfort of his
last few days in peace, she 'd make any sacrifice; and through all
the letters, though I never saw it before, she laid stress on what she
called doing her best to make me happy, but there was no word of being
happy herself."

Perhaps Tony did not lay the same stress on this that his friend did;
perhaps no explanation of it came readily to his mind; at all events, he
made no attempt at comment, and only said,--

"And what will your answer be?"

"What can it be?--to release her, of course."

"Ay, but how will you say it?"

"Here's what I have written; it is the fourth attempt, and I don't much
like it yet, but I can't do it better."

And once more they turned to the light while M'Gruder read out his
letter. It was a kind and feeling letter; it contained not one word of
reproach, but it said that, into the home he had taken, and where he
meant to be so happy, he 'd never put foot again. "You ought to have
seen it, Tony," said he, with a quiver in his voice. "It was all so neat
and comfortable; and the little room I meant to be Dolly's own was
hung round with prints, and there was a little terrace, with some
orange-trees and myrtles, that would grow there all through the
winter,--for it was a sheltered spot under the Monte Nero; but it's all
over now."

"Don't send off that letter. I mean, let me see her and speak to her
before you write. I shall be at home, I hope, by Wednesday, and I'll go
over to the Burnside,--or, better still, I 'll make my mother ask Dolly
to come over to us. Dolly loves her as if she were her own mother, and
if any one can influence her she will be that one."

"But I'd not wish her to come round by persuasion, Tony. Dolly's a girl
to have a will of her own, and she's never made op her mind to write me