‘Dearest Frank,’ she began.  She had first written ‘dear Mr Gresham’; but her heart revolted against such useless coldness.  She was not going to pretend she did not love him.

’Dearest frank,

’Your mother has been here talking to me about our engagement.  I do not generally agree with her about such matters; but she has said some things to-day which I cannot but acknowledge to be true.  She says, that our marriage would be distressing to your father, injurious to all your family, and ruinous to yourself.  If this be so, how can I, who love you, wish for such a marriage?

’I remember my promise, and have kept it.  I would not yield to your mother when she desired me to disclaim our engagement.  But I do think it will be more prudent if you will consent to forget all that has passed between us—­not, perhaps, to forget it; that may not be possible for us—­but to let it pass by as though it had never been.  If so, if you think so, dear Frank, do not have any scruples on my account.  What will be best for you, must be best for me.  Think what a reflection it would ever be to me, to have been the ruin of one that I love so well.

’Let me have but one word to say that I am released from my promise, and I will tell my uncle that the matter between us is over.  It will be painful for us at first; those occasional meetings which must take place will distress us, but that will wear off.  We shall always think well of each other, and why should we not be friends?  This, doubtless, cannot be done without inward wounds; but such wounds are in God’s hands, and He can cure them.

’I know your first feelings will be on reading this letter; but do not answer it in obedience to such feelings.  Think over it, think of your father, and all you owe him, of your old name, your old family, and what the world expects of you.’  (Mary was forced to put her hand to her eyes, to save the paper from her falling tears, as she found herself thus repeating, nearly word for word, the arguments that had been used by Lady Arabella.) ’Think of these things coolly, if you can, but, at any rate, without passion:  and then let me have one word in answer.  One word will suffice.

’I have but to add this:  do not allow yourself to think that my heart will ever reproach you.  It cannot reproach you for doing that which I myself suggest.’ (Mary’s logic in this was very false; but she was not herself aware of it.) ’I will never reproach you either in word or thought; and as for all others, it seems to me that the world agrees that we have hitherto been wrong.  The world, I hope, will be satisfied when we have obeyed it.

’God bless you, dearest Frank!  I shall never call you so again; but it would be a pretence were I to write otherwise in this letter.  Think of this, and then let me have one line.

’Your affectionate friend,
Mary Thorne’

’PS.—­Of course I cannot be at dear Beatrice’s marriage; but when they come back to the parsonage, I shall see her.  I am sure they will both be happy, because they are so good.  I need hardly say that I shall think of them on their wedding day.’