the gambler is justified in having.  That, however, is not my difficulty.  And when I think of him I can see a prospect for success for the gambler.  I think so well of myself that, loving him, as I do;—­yes, mamma, do not be uneasy;—­loving him as I do, I believe I could be a comfort to him.  I think that he might be better with me than without me.  That is, he would be so, if he could teach himself to look back upon the past as I can do, and to judge of me as I can judge of him.’

‘He has nothing, at least, for which to condemn you.’

’But he would have, were I to marry him now.  He would condemn me because I had forgiven him.  He would condemn me because I had borne what he had done to me, and had still loved him—­loved him through it all.  He would feel and know the weakness—­and there is weakness.  I have been weak in not being able to rid myself of him altogether.  He would recognise this after a while, and would despise me for it.  But he would not see what there is of devotion to him in my being able to bear the taunts of the world in going back to him, and to your taunts, and my own taunts.  I should have to bear his also—­not spoken aloud, but to be seen in his face and heard in his voice—­and that I could not endure.  If he despised me, and he would, that would make us both unhappy.  Therefore, mamma, tell him not to come; tell him that he can never come; but, if it be possible, tell him tenderly.’  Then she got up and walked away, as though she were going out of the room, but her mother had caught her before the door was opened.

‘Lily,’ she said, ’if you think you can be happy with him, he shall come.’

’No, mamma, no.  I have been looking for the light ever since I read his letter, and I think I see it.  And now, mamma, I will make a clean breast of it.  From the moment in which I heard that that poor woman was dead, I have been in a state of flutter.  It has been weak of me, and silly, and contemptible.  But I could not help it.  I kept on asking myself whether he would ever think of me now.  Well; he has answered the question; and has so done it that he has forced upon me the necessity of a resolution.  I have resolved, and I believe that I shall be the better for it.’

The letter which Mrs Dale wrote to Mr Crosbie was as follows:-

’Mrs Dale presents her compliments to Mr Crosbie, and begs to assure him that it will not now be possible that he should renew the relations which were broken off three years ago, between him and Mrs Dale’s family.’  It was very short, certainly, and it did not by any means satisfy Mrs Dale.  But she did not know how to say more without saying too much.  The object of her letter was to save him the trouble of a futile perseverance, and them from the annoyance of persecution; and this she wished to do without mentioning her daughter’s name.  And she was determined that no word should escape her in which there was any touch of severity, any