“Yes,” Alice said, “we know your sad history, and how you must have suffered. Still we say, will you come? Your father can surely spare you for a little, and you can if you like come back here every night. If you have any other ties—” and she hesitated. “No, Miss Heathcote,” Carry said in a low voice; “my child died a year since. I will come to you; and, oh, thank you for speaking so kindly as you have done,” and her eyes filled with tears. “And now,” Alice said, “I must ask, and I beg of you to answer me, painful as it is to both of us, a few questions about that wretched time. All we know is, that your father called upon my uncle, and accused his nephew of having deceived and deserted you, and said that he had seen your body.” “He thought so, Miss Heathcote, but it was not. God spared me that sin. I went out blind and despairing when I read that he was married. I went out to drown myself; but when I got to the river, I thought of my father’s agony, and I felt he would forgive me; and though I would rather, oh, how much rather, have died, I resolved for his sake to live. But it was too much for me, and I was taken ill; I think I went out of my mind for a while, and came to myself in a hospital. Then I wrote to my father, and he came to me. We went down to Weymouth first, and took a shop there. Baby was born there. People thought I was a widow, and were very kind; but when baby died, I did not like it, and came here six months ago.” “And now I must ask you a more painful question. You do not know the sorrow and misery this has caused me. He was to me as a brother, to my uncle as a son. We have never seen him since. He has been ruined, and has gone out to Australia to work for his living. Now that we know you are living, we can forgive him, but I esteemed him and thought so highly of him, that I would so like to know if there is not some little palliation. You will tell me, Carry?” and she took her hand in her earnestness. “For God’s sake tell me the truth, even if it is against yourself. I do so want, when I see him again, to find that though he has sinned, I may yet esteem him somewhat as I used to do. Was it in a moment of madness, or did he solemnly promise to marry you?” Alice awaited the reply with an intense anxiety upon her face. Carry was very pale, and was a moment before she answered. “Miss Heathcote, I wish I could tell you that it was as you hope. I have forgiven him, and wish him no ill. But it was not so. He over and over again promised to marry me. He swore it on the Bible. He said if his uncle did not die in a month or two, as he expected, he would marry me privately. I can show you his letter,” she added; “I have it still.”