“The truth is, Lawrence,” said I, “I have not acted quite correctly towards you of late—especially on this last occasion; and I’m come to—in short, to express my regret for what has been done, and to beg your pardon. If you don’t choose to grant it,” I added hastily, not liking the aspect of his face, “it’s no matter; only I’ve done my duty—that’s all.”
“It’s easily done,” replied he, with a faint smile bordering on a sneer: “to abuse your friend and knock him on the head without any assignable cause, and then tell him the deed was not quite correct, but it’s no matter whether he pardons it or not.”
“I forgot to tell you that it was in consequence of a mistake,”—muttered I. “I should have made a very handsome apology, but you provoked me so confoundedly with your—. Well, I suppose it’s my fault. The fact is, I didn’t know that you were Mrs. Graham’s brother, and I saw and heard some things respecting your conduct towards her which were calculated to awaken unpleasant suspicions, that, allow me to say, a little candour and confidence on your part might have removed; and, at last, I chanced to overhear a part of a conversation between you and her that made me think I had a right to hate you.”
“And how came you to know that I was her brother?” asked he, in some anxiety.
“She told me herself. She told me all. She knew I might be trusted. But you needn’t disturb yourself about that, Mr. Lawrence, for I’ve seen the last of her!”
“The last! Is she gone, then?”
“No; but she has bid adieu to me, and I have promised never to go near that house again while she inhabits it.” I could have groaned aloud at the bitter thoughts awakened by this turn in the discourse. But I only clenched my hands and stamped my foot upon the rug. My companion, however, was evidently relieved.
“You have done right,” he said, in a tone of unqualified approbation, while his face brightened into almost a sunny expression. “And as for the mistake, I am sorry for both our sakes that it should have occurred. Perhaps you can forgive my want of candour, and remember, as some partial mitigation of the offence, how little encouragement to friendly confidence you have given me of late.”
“Yes, yes—I remember it all: nobody can blame me more than I blame myself in my own heart; at any rate, nobody can regret more sincerely than I do the result of my brutality, as you rightly term it.”
“Never mind that,” said he, faintly smiling; “let us forget all unpleasant words on both sides, as well as deeds, and consign to oblivion everything that we have cause to regret. Have you any objection to take my hand, or you’d rather not?” It trembled through weakness as he held it out, and dropped before I had time to catch it and give it a hearty squeeze, which he had not the strength to return.