“Correspond! There it is again! What of it, I should like to know? Why shouldn’t my cousin, my brother, write to me? I have all the letters;--you may see them every one. They gave me a great deal of pleasure. They represented my sole point of contact with civilization, with fine feelings and pretty thoughts. But you can go over them all, if you like. You won’t find a single whisper of proof of your aunt’s mean suspicion. I am almost ashamed of myself for having stooped to defend myself--but it is just as well to let you know the truth.” “Yes!” John breathed a sigh which was not altogether of relief, but carried a fair admixture of bewilderment. This ingenious explanation did not at all points tally with the inferences drawn from Seth’s confession. Perhaps it was true enough in the letter, but he felt that as a revelation of the spirit it left much to be desired. He added: “Well, I am sorry if I misjudged you. Probably I did. However, even if Seth had come near getting into a scrape, he’s safe out of it now.” This complaisant conclusion nettled-the woman. She went on, as if her explanation had not been interrupted: “Of course, we had what you might call a community of grievance to talk about, and draw us together. It wouldn’t be fitting in me to say more now than that my life here was not congenial: you won’t mind my saying _that_ much? I had dreamed of a very different kind of married existence. Seth, too, had his trouble. In his boyhood, when it seemed assured that he was to remain the farmer of the family, his mother had planned a marriage for him. It isn’t for me to say a word against Annie. She is a good enough girl, in her way. But when Seth got out of his chrysalis, and learned what there really was in him, the thought that he was committed in a sense to marrying a farm girl made him very gloomy. He used to talk with me about it, not saying anything against Annie, mind you, but----” “That’ll do!” said John, curtly. “We won’t go into that. Evidently there was no limit to Seth’s asininity. Let that pass. Whatever he said, or didn’t say, during his vealy period, he’s going to marry Annie now. There never was a time, and I fear there never will be one, when I would not call her his superior. The question is: Are you going to retract before her the false, cruel things you have said?” “I am going upstairs again,” she said. “I think I will lie down awhile,” and moved towards the stair-door. The brother looked at her, amazed, pained, indignant. She had her hand on the latch by the time his emotions found words: “I’ve wasted my time in pitying you. God forbid that any of our family, young or old, should ever fall in with such a woman as you are again!” He pulled on his hat and left the house. CHAPTER XXXI.--MILTON’S ASPIRATIONS.