Like all who love deeply, she had dated her existence from the time she became acquainted with Seymore: all before had become a blank in her memory; but now her early years rose up before her, like the reflected sunlight on distant hills. The thought of her father came back with melting tenderness. Ah, now was he avenged for the short forgetfulness with which she had ever reproached herself. She threw herself on her knees, and prayed silently. She felt calmed and elevated, as if in immediate answer to her prayer. All selfish and agitating emotions passed away. A spirit of forgiveness, of endurance, of calm and patient trust, entered her soul. She felt that, with Seymore's convictions and sense of duty, he could not have acted otherwise; he could not but bear his testimony to what he thought truth; and almost a divine pity for his errors, and a purer love for his truth, filled her heart. She was informed that Seymore was waiting to see her. This was a trial she had expected, and she was now prepared to meet him. He entered trembling, pale, and wholly unmanned. As he tried to speak, his voice failed, and he burst into tears. It is fearful to see a strong man weep. Edith was not prepared for this excess of emotion. Those who have seen Retch's exquisite drawing of Cordelia when Lear awakes, and she asks "if he knows her," can imagine the tender pity of her expression as she went to him and placed her hand in his. A sweet smile was on her lips,--that smile that shows that woman can mingle an infinite tenderness with the forgiveness of every injury. He pressed her hand to his heart--his lips; and when he caught her eye,--"O, do not look so mildly at me," he said; "reproach me, scorn me, hate me: I can bear all rather than those meek eyes,--than that forgiving smile." "Be calm, dear Seymore," she said; "with your convictions, you could not have done otherwise. You believe in the reality of these possessions. The evidence against me was more and stronger than has been sufficient to condemn many as innocent as I am. You can have no cause for self-reproach." "Innocent! O, say not that you are innocent! God has many ways of trying his elect. You he has tried severely with temptations from the prince of evil. He chooses souls like yours. O, Edith, for my sake, for your own sake, acknowledge that you have been tempted. It only is required that you should say you have been deceived; then all will be well." For a moment, Edith's face was crimsoned. "What! become a traitor to my own soul! lose forever the unsullied jewel of truth, and the peace of a pure conscience! and do you counsel this?" "Many have confessed," he said, "many of undoubted truth, of ripe wisdom, who could not be deceived, and who would not confess to a lie."[4]