“Been to Kent Villa yet?” “No,” was the grim reply. “Why not?” “Because I have sworn never to say an angry word to her again; and, if I was to go there, I should say a good many angry ones. Oh, when I think that her folly drove me to sea, to do my best for her, and that I was nearer death for that woman than ever man was, and lost my reason for her, and went through toil and privations, hunger, exile, mainly for her, and then to find the banns cried in open church, with that scoundrel!--say no more, uncle. I shall never reproach her, and never forgive her.” “She was deceived.” “I don't doubt that; but nobody has a right to be so great a fool as all that.” “It was not her folly, but her innocence, that was imposed on. You a philosopher, and not know that wisdom itself is sometimes imposed on, and deceived by cunning folly! Have you forgotten your Milton?-- “'At Wisdom's gate, Suspicion sleeps, And deems no ill where no ill seems.' “Come, come! are you sure you are not a little to blame? Did you write home the moment you found you were not dead?” Christopher colored high. “Evidently not,” said the keen old man. “Ah, my fine fellow! have I found the flaw in your own armor?” “I did wrong, but it was for her. I sinned for her. I could not bear her to be without money, and I knew the insurance--I sinned for her. She has sinned AGAINST me.” “And she had much better have sinned against God, hadn't she? He is more forgiving than we perfect creatures that cheat insurance companies. And so, my fine fellow, you hid the truth from her for two or three months.” No answer. “Strike off those two or three months; would the banns have ever been cried?” “Well, uncle,” said Christopher, hard pressed, “I am glad she has got a champion; and I hope you will always keep your eye on her.” “I mean to.” “Good-morning.” “No; don't be in a hurry. I have something else to say, not so provoking. Do you know the arts by which she was made to believe you wished her to marry again?” “I wished her to marry again! Are you mad, uncle?” “Whose handwriting is on this envelope?” “Mine, to be sure.” “Now, read the letter.” Christopher read the forged letter. “Oh, monstrous!” “This was given her with your ruby ring, and a tale so artful that nothing we read about the devil comes near it. This was what did it. The Earl of Tadcaster brought her title, and wealth, and love.” “What, he too! The little cub I saved, and lost myself for--blank him! blank him!” “Why, you stupid ninny! you forget you were dead; and he could not help loving her. How could he? Well, but you see she refused him. And why? because he came without a forged letter from YOU. Do you doubt her love for you?” “Of course I do. She never loved me as I loved her.” “Christopher, don't you say that before me, or you and I shall quarrel. Poor girl! she lay, in my sight, as near death for you as you were for her. I'll show you something.”