"Truly, my child, it is a wretched story," he began, as if a little careful in the choosing of his words, "but the knowledge of it has deepened instead of lessened my sympathy for you. Your fault has been very great, but so is your sense of compunction; and as far as suffering can expiate, surely you have done much to atone. My own knowledge of the character of the late Lord Hurdly was such that I cannot pretend to be greatly surprised at what you have told me concerning him. I regret to say it, but justice must be done to the living as well as to the dead. The present Lord Hurdly will prove, I trust and believe, an honor to the name. My intercourse with him has been comparatively limited, but no young man has ever inspired me with a stronger sense of confidence. So much do I feel this that I will confess to a strong desire that he should know upon what ground you acted toward him as you did. I have given my word to you, however, and perhaps it is as well. That poor man so lately gone to his account has stains enough upon his memory without this added one. And when I think of Horace--what he has suffered through the treachery of his kinsman--I feel that it is perhaps kindest to him also to leave this dark secret in the oblivion which buries it in our two hearts." Bettina seemed not to hear his last words. "He has suffered? You think he has suffered, and through me?" "Is it possible that you can doubt it?" "He gave no sign," began Bettina, hesitatingly. "To you--certainly not. How could he?" "Did he to you?" she said, breathlessly. The rector looked at her with a sort of sad scrutiny, and was silent a moment. Then he said: "He wrote me one letter--the most brokenhearted expression of suffering I have ever read. It was before your marriage, when he still had some slight hope that you had mistaken your own feelings, in the statement of them which you had made in your letter to him. But then came the announcement of your marriage, since which time your name has not been mentioned between us." "Did you keep that letter?" she said. "I did." "Will you let me see it?" "I am afraid I cannot properly do that." "I beg that you will, Mr. Spotswood. You would be doing me a very great favor, and for your cousin's sake also I think I may venture to ask it. I was told that he was 'fickle and capricious, incapable of a sustained affection,' and much more in the same line. I should be truly glad to know that this was false." "I can give you my word for that."