She sat down by his side, still holding one hand firmly, and softly detaining the other.
"Oh, my friend! may I believe you? May I speak to you?" She leaned close to him. "You know my heart. I have no better ambition than to be your friend. Surely I divide your grief, and may I not claim your confidence? Who has wept more over your great and dreadful sorrows? I would not have come to you, but I do believe that sorrow shared relieves the burden, and it is now that you may feel a woman's aid, and something of what a woman could be to you…."
"Be assured," he gravely said, "I thank you, Emmeline, for your intentions."
"No, no! not for my intentions! And do not thank me. Think of him…think of your dear boy… Our Richard, as we have called him.—Oh! do not think it a foolish superstition of mine, but I have had a thought this night that has kept me in torment till I rose to speak to you… Tell me first you have forgiven him."
"A father bears no malice to his son, Emmeline."
"Your heart has forgiven him?"
My heart has taken what he gave."
"And quite forgiven him?"
"You will hear no complaints of mine."
The lady paused despondingly, and looked at him in a wistful manner, saying with a sigh, "Yes! I know how noble you are, and different from others!"