"Oh, I see how it is! You cannot give your friendship where you cannot give your esteem. Is it not so?"
"Yes," said Capitola; "that is it; yet I wish you so well that I wish you might grow worthy of higher esteem than mine."
"You are thinking of my—yes, I will not shrink from characterizing that conduct as it deserves—my unpardonable violence toward Clara. Miss Black, I have mourned that sin from the day that I was hurried into it until this. I have bewailed it from the very bottom of my heart," said Craven, earnestly, fixing his eyes with an expression of perfect truthfulness upon those of Capitola.
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Cap.
"Miss Black, please hear this in palliation—I would not presume to say in defense—of my conduct: I was driven to frenzy by a passion of contending love and jealousy as violent and maddening as it was unreal and transient. But that delusive passion has subsided, and among the unmerited mercies for which I have to be thankful is that, in my frantic pursuit of Clara Day, I was not cursed with success! For all the violence into which that frenzy hurried me I have deeply repented. I can never forgive myself, but—cannot you forgive me?"
"Mr. Le Noir, I have nothing for which to forgive you. I am glad that you have repented toward Clara and I wish you well, and that is really all that I can say."
"I have deserved this and I accept it," said Craven, in a tone so mournful that Capitola, in spite of all her instincts, could not choose but pity him.
He rode on, with his pale face, downcast eyes and melancholy expression, until they reached a point at the back of Hurricane Hall, where their paths diverged.
Here Craven, lifting his hat and bowing profoundly, said, in a sad tone:
"Good evening, Miss Black," and, turning his horse's head, took the path leading down into the Hidden Hollow.