“Yes,” said the banker, quietly, “I forgive you, Tregenna.”
“My words,” continued the latter, “were as false and cruel as they were undeserved, and I cannot reproach myself enough for my mad folly. Can I apologise more humbly, Penwynn?” he added, with a sad smile.
“You acknowledge, then, that I did my best for you?” said Mr Penwynn.
“I do,” cried Tregenna, eagerly; “and I believe that you acted in all sincerity. Penwynn, you and I must not quarrel. As to Rhoda—Miss Penwynn—if I am not to have her love, let me enjoy her friendship and esteem.”
Mr Penwynn looked at the speaker coldly and searchingly for a few moments, but he could see nothing to indicate that the man before him was not perfectly sincere, and ready to say and do any thing in reparation of the past outbreak.
“You don’t believe me, Penwynn,” cried Tregenna, bitterly. “For heaven’s sake, have a little feeling for a man. Here am I thrown in an instant from a state of hope that I might realise my fondest wishes into a state of utter, abject despair. I am not an angel, man, that I can bear such a disappointment unmoved.”
Mr Penwynn still continued his scrutiny.
“It is a bitter—a cruel overthrow,” continued Tregenna, “and a few moments back I feel as if I must have been mad—I was mad. I could have said and done any thing. Even how I can hardly keep calm. Have some pity on me.”
“My dear Tregenna,” said the banker, laying his hand upon the other’s shoulder, “I do indeed sympathise with you in your disappointment, but I want you to believe that I have been perfectly straightforward and honourable.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Tregenna, excitedly, “I do believe it.”