“Yes, my child; I have wandered from the truth,” said Caleb, with a pitiable expression in his face. “I have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel.”
She turned toward him, and repeated the word, “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 an unbelieving smile.
“Not meaning to be, my child,” said Caleb, “but I have been, although I never knew it until yesterday. My dear blind daughter, forgive me. The world, dear heart, is not as you imagine it. It is not as I have represented it. The eyes you have trusted in have been false to you.”
She turned her wondering face toward 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 pictured things to you as different from what they are. I have even changed the characters of some people, to make you happier. I have surrounded you with fancies.”
“But living people are not fancies,” she said, turning very pale. “You can’t change them.”
“I have done so, Bertha,” Caleb told her. “There is one person you know——”