How far his own strong, clear common sense and just judgment had succeeded in hushing it up, and saving the young man from a ruined life, and his family from intolerable disgrace, Dr. Grey was not likely to say. But his wife guessed all, then and afterward. He proceeded to tell her how, in searching these papers, among a heap of discreditable letters he had lighted upon two or three, pure as white lilies found lying upon a refuse heap, signed "Christian Oakley." "I read them--I was obliged to read them--but I did so privately, and I put them in my pocket before the dean saw them. No one ever cast eyes upon them except myself. I took them home with me and kept them, And I keep them now, for they first taught me what she was--this chosen wife of mine. They let me into the secret of that simple, gentle. innocent, girlish heart; they made me feel the worth of it, even though it was being thrown away on a worthless man. And I suspect, from that time I wanted it for my own." He went on to say how he had first made acquaintance with her--on business grounds partly, connected with her father's sudden death, but also intending, as soon as he felt himself warranted in taking such a liberty, to return these letters, and tell her in a plain, honest, fatherly manner what a risk she had run, and what a merciful escape she had made from this young man, who, Dr. Grey then felt certain, would never again dare to appear at Avonsbridge. But the opportunity never came. The "fatherly" feeling was swallowed up in another, which effectually sealed the good man's tongue. He determined to make her his wife, and then the letters, the whole story, in which he had read her heart as clear as a book, and was afraid of nothing, concerned himself alone. He felt at liberty to tell her how or when he chose. At least so he persuaded himself. "But perhaps I, too, was a little bit of a coward, my child. I, too, might have avoided much misery if I had had the strength to speak out. But we all make mistakes sometimes, as I told you once. The great thing is not to leave them as mistakes, not to sink under them, but to recognize them for what they are, and try to remedy them if possible. Even if we married too hastily--I, because it was the only way in which I could shelter and protect my darling, and you--well, perhaps because I over-persuaded you, still, we are happy now." Happy? It was a word too small--any word would be. The only expression for such happiness was silence. "And what are we to do about him?" "Him! who?" Christian said it quite naturally for, woman-like, in that rapture of content, the whole world dwindled down into but two beings, herself and her husband. Dr. Grey smiled--not dissatisfied. "I meant Sir Edwin Uniacke. May I read his letter?" "Certainly."