“But why?”
“Ah! that's more than she likes to tell me,—more, mayhap, than she 'd tell any one.”
“Have you any clew to it?”
“None,—not the slightest.”
“Is your sister-in-law in it? Has she said or written anything that Dolly could resent?”
“No; don't you mark what she says at the end? 'You must not try to lighten any blame you would lay on me by thinking that any one has influenced me. The fault is all my own. It is I myself have to ask your forgiveness.'”
“Was there any coldness in your late letters? Was there anything that she could construe into change of affection?”
“Nothing,—nothing.”
“What will her father say to it?” said Tony, after a pause.
“She's afraid of that herself. You mind the words?—'If I meet forgiveness from you, I shall not from others, and my fault will bear its heavy punishment on a heart that is not too happy.' Poor thing! I do forgive her,—forgive her with all my heart; but it's a great blow, Tony.”