"You have forgiven!" Esther exclaimed mournfully. "Do you know in what you have been wronged?" "All that is personal to myself has passed from my mind," he replied. "Ay," said Mrs. Pendarrel, "but there is much that is not personal to yourself. Where is your sister? You are happy in the possession of such a one. Do you know that even to her I have been unkind and unjust?" "Oh, madam," Randolph said, "do not recall these things. Helen has differed widely from me. Would that I had been guided by her advice!" "Yet you were right, and she was wrong," observed Esther, who seemed to feel a relief in unburdening her mind. "That letter was intended to try you, and you interpreted it correctly. Helen was more charitable than I deserved." "Madam," said Randolph, moved by compassion for the humiliation before him, "there had probably been great provocation." "I do not know," was the meditative answer. "I have tried to persuade myself there was. For if there were not, how shall I ever be justified? Did she tell you, Randolph--did your sister tell you--that I robbed her? See. Do you know this miniature?" And she showed him the picture of herself. The sight of it reminded her hearer of those dying imprecations which had been so fatal to all his happiness. A dark cloud overspread his brow. "Ay," said Esther, perceiving the change in his countenance. "You remember, now, that it is not only your peace which I have broken. There is another's for which I have to answer." "Oh," Randolph exclaimed, "heavy was the task laid upon me, and bitterly indeed have I judged!" "Listen," Mrs. Pendarrel continued, speaking in tremulous accents. "You know this portrait, but you know not its history. You know not how it once hung from the neck of a wayward and wilful girl. It had often been begged and prayed for, by one who loved her faithfully, fondly--ay, as she believes now--till death. It was taken, or given, in a moment of overpowering tenderness. The vows were plighted, and each had promised to live only for the other. And then she--she, forsooth, idol and votary, worshipped and worshipping--must snap the link, in her petulance and pride, break the heart which adored her, and seek to console her own misery by trampling upon her victim. Oh, Randolph Trevethlan, your father has been deeply avenged. I never forgot that early dream. But I strove to persuade myself that I was forgotten, and excused my own arrogance with the thought. And now this image, which he wore upon his heart--it tells me that he loved me to the last."