"Now, my child," said he, "be brave. Here is a letter from that man."
"Oh, papa! I thought he would. I knew he would." And the pale face was
flushed with joy and hope all in a moment.
"Do what?"
"Write and explain."
"Explain? A thing that is clear as sunshine. He has written to throw
dust in your eyes again. You are evidently in no state to judge. _I_
shall read this letter first."
"Yes, papa," said Bella, faintly.
He did read it, and she devoured his countenance all the time.
"There is nothing in it. He offers no real explanation, but only says
he can explain, and asks for an interview--to play upon your weakness.
If I give you this letter, it will only make you cry, and render your
task more difficult. I must be strong for your good, and set you an
example. I loved this young man too; but, now I know him"--then he
actually thrust the letter into the fire.
But this was too much. Bella shrieked at the act, and put her hand to
her heart, and shrieked again. "Ah! you'll kill us, you'll kill us
both!" she cried. "Poor Charles! Poor Bella! You don't love your
child--you have no pity." And, for the first time, her misery was
violent. She writhed and wept, and at last went into violent hysterics,
and frightened that stout old warrior more than cannon had ever
frightened him; and presently she became quiet, and wept at his knees,
and begged his forgiveness, and said he was wiser than she was, and she
would obey him in everything, only he must not be angry with her if she
could not live.
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