“Oh, papa! I thought he would. I knew he would.” And the pale face was flushed with joy and hope all in a moment. “Do what?” “Write and explain.” “Explain? A thing that is clear as sunshine. He has written to throw dust in your eyes again. You are evidently in no state to judge. _I_ shall read this letter first.” “Yes, papa,” said Bella, faintly. He did read it, and she devoured his countenance all the time. “There is nothing in it. He offers no real explanation, but only says he can explain, and asks for an interview--to play upon your weakness. If I give you this letter, it will only make you cry, and render your task more difficult. I must be strong for your good, and set you an example. I loved this young man too; but, now I know him”--then he actually thrust the letter into the fire. But this was too much. Bella shrieked at the act, and put her hand to her heart, and shrieked again. “Ah! you'll kill us, you'll kill us both!” she cried. “Poor Charles! Poor Bella! You don't love your child--you have no pity.” And, for the first time, her misery was violent. She writhed and wept, and at last went into violent hysterics, and frightened that stout old warrior more than cannon had ever frightened him; and presently she became quiet, and wept at his knees, and begged his forgiveness, and said he was wiser than she was, and she would obey him in everything, only he must not be angry with her if she could not live. Then the stout admiral mingled his tears with hers, and began to realize what deep waters of affliction his girl was wading in. Yet he saw no way out but firmness. He wrote to Sir Charles to say that his daughter was too ill to write; but that no explanation was possible, and no interview could be allowed. Sir Charles, who, after writing, had conceived the most sanguine hopes, was now as wretched as Bella. Only, now that he was refused a hearing, he had wounded pride to support him a little under wounded love. Admiral Bruce, fearing for his daughter's health, and even for her life--she pined so visibly--now ordered her to divide her day into several occupations, and exact divisions of time--an hour for this, an hour for that; an hour by the clock--and here he showed practical wisdom. Try it, ye that are very unhappy, and tell me the result. As a part of this excellent system, she had to walk round the square from eleven to twelve A. M., but never alone; he was not going to have Sir Charles surprising her into an interview. He always went with her, and, as he was too stiff to walk briskly, he sat down, and she had to walk in sight. He took a stout stick with him--for Sir Charles. But Sir Charles was proud, and stayed at home with his deep wound. One day, walking round the square with a step of Mercury and heart of lead, Bella Bruce met a Sister of Charity pacing slow and thoughtful; their eyes met and drank, in a moment, every feature of each other.