"Bertha, my dear!" said Caleb. "I have something on my mind I want to tell you while we three are alone. Hear me kindly! I have a confession to make to you, my darling!"
"A confession, father?"
"I have wandered from the truth, and lost myself, my child," said Caleb with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face. "I have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel."
She turned her wonder-stricken face towards him, and repeated "Cruel!"
"He accuses himself too strongly, Bertha," said Dot. "You'll say so presently. You'll be the first to tell him so."
"He cruel to me!" cried Bertha with a smile of incredulity.
"Not meaning it, my child," said Caleb. "But I have been: though I never suspected it till yesterday. My dear blind daughter, hear me and forgive me. The world you live in, heart of mine, doesn't exist as I have represented it. The eyes you have trusted in have been false to you."
She turned her wonder-stricken face towards him still; but drew back, and clung closer to her friend.
"Your road in life was rough, my poor one," said Caleb, "and I meant to smooth it for you. I have altered objects, changed the characters of people, invented many things that never have been, to make you happier. I have had concealments from you, put deceptions on you, God forgive me! and surrounded you with fancies."
"But living people are not fancies?" she said hurriedly, and turning very pale, and still retiring from him. "You can't change them."