She stopping, he said again:  “Speak freely to me.  Trust me.”

“We have had five children before this darling, and they all lie in their little graves.  He believes that they have withered away under a curse, and that it will blight this child like the rest.”

“Under what curse?”

“Both I and he have it on our conscience that we tried you very heavily, and I do not know but that, if I were as ill as he, I might suffer in my mind as he does.  This is the constant burden:—­’I believe, Beatrice, I was the only friend that Mr. Jackson ever cared to make, though I was so much his junior.  The more influence he acquired in the business, the higher he advanced me, and I was alone in his private confidence.  I came between him and you, and I took you from him.  We were both secret, and the blow fell when he was wholly unprepared.  The anguish it caused a man so compressed must have been terrible; the wrath it awakened inappeasable.  So, a curse came to be invoked on our poor, pretty little flowers, and they fall.’”

“And you, Beatrice,” he asked, when she had ceased to speak, and there had been a silence afterwards, “how say you?”

“Until within these few weeks I was afraid of you, and I believed that you would never, never forgive.”

“Until within these few weeks,” he repeated.  “Have you changed your opinion of me within these few weeks?”

“Yes.”

“For what reason?”

“I was getting some pieces of music in a shop in this town, when, to my terror, you came in.  As I veiled my face and stood in the dark end of the shop, I heard you explain that you wanted a musical instrument for a bedridden girl.  Your voice and manner were so softened, you showed such interest in its selection, you took it away yourself with so much tenderness of care and pleasure, that I knew you were a man with a most gentle heart.  Oh, Mr. Jackson, Mr. Jackson, if you could have felt the refreshing rain of tears that followed for me!”

Was Phoebe playing at that moment on her distant couch?  He seemed to hear her.

“I inquired in the shop where you lived, but could get no information.  As I had heard you say that you were going back by the next train (but you did not say where), I resolved to visit the station at about that time of day, as often as I could, between my lessons, on the chance of seeing you again.  I have been there very often, but saw you no more until to-day.  You were meditating as you walked the street, but the calm expression of your face emboldened me to send my child to you.  And when I saw you bend your head to speak tenderly to her, I prayed to GOD to forgive me for having ever brought a sorrow on it.  I now pray to you to forgive me, and to forgive my husband.  I was very young, he was young too, and, in the ignorant hardihood of such a time of life, we don’t know what we do to those who have undergone more discipline.  You generous man!  You good man!  So to raise me up and make nothing of my crime against you!”—­for he would not see her on her knees, and soothed her as a kind father might have soothed an erring daughter—­“thank you, bless you, thank you!”