Sir Charles sighed; but said, after a while, “Is affection ever entirely wasted? My love for that young fool enlarged my heart. There was a time he did me a deal of good.” But next day, having only herself to think of now, Lady Bassett could live no longer under the load of deceit. She told Sir Charles Mary Meyrick had deceived him. “Read this,” she said, “and see what your miserable wife has done, who loved you to madness and crime.” Sir Charles looked at her, and saw in her wasted form and her face that, if he did read it, he should kill her; so he played the man: he restrained himself by a mighty effort, and said, “My dear, excuse me; but on this matter I have more faith in Mary Meyrick's exactness than in yours. Besides, I know your heart, and don't care to be told of your errors in judgment, no, not even by yourself. Sorry to offend an authoress; but I decline to read your book, and, more than that, I forbid you the subject entirely for the next thirty years, at least. Let by-gones be by-gones.” That eventful morning Mr. Rutland called and proposed to Ruperta. She declined politely, but firmly. She told Mrs. Bassett, and Mrs. Bassett told Richard in a nervous way, but his answer surprised her. He said he was very glad of it; Ruperta could do better. Mrs. Bassett could not resist the pleasure of telling Lady Bassett. She went over on purpose, with her husband's consent. Lady Bassett asked to see Ruperta. “By all means,” said Richard Bassett, graciously. On her return to Highmore, Ruperta asked leave to go to the Hall every day and nurse Lady Bassett. “They will let her die else,” said she. Richard Bassett assented to that, too. Ruperta, for some weeks, almost lived at the Hall, and in this emergency revealed great qualities. As the malevolent small-pox, passing through the gentle cow, comes out the sovereign cow-pox, so, in this gracious nature, her father's vices turned to their kindred virtues; his obstinacy of purpose shone here a noble constancy; his audacity became candor, and his cunning wisdom. Her intelligence saw at once that Lady Bassett was pining to death, and a weak-minded nurse would be fatal: she was all smiles and brightness, and neglected no means to encourage the patient. With this view, she promised to plight her faith to Compton the moment Lady Bassett should be restored to health; and so, with hopes and smiles, and the novelty of a daughter's love, she fought with death for Lady Bassett, and at last she won the desperate battle. This did Richard Bassett's daughter for her father's late enemy. The grateful husband wrote to Bassett, and now acknowledged _his_ obligation. A civil, mock-modest reply from Richard Bassett. From this things went on step by step, till at last Compton and Ruperta, at eighteen years of age, were formally betrothed. Thus the children's love wore out the father's hate.