“And yet you have much to forgive. But it was not my plan to steal your daughter from you. I was poor, and money tempted me.”
“Who could have had an interest in doing me this cruel wrong?”
“One whom you know well,—Mr. John Somerville.”
“Surely, you are wrong!” exclaimed Mrs. Clifton, in unbounded astonishment. “It cannot be. What object could he have had?”
“Can you think of none?” queried Peg, looking at her shrewdly.
Mrs. Clifton changed color. “Perhaps so,” she said. “Go on.”
Peg told the whole story, so circumstantially, that there was no room left for doubt.
“I did not believe him capable of such wickedness,” she ejaculated. “It was a base, unmanly revenge. How could you lend yourself to it?”
“How could I?” repeated Peg. “Madam, you are rich. You have always had whatever wealth could procure. How can you understand the temptations of the poor? When want and hunger stare us in the face, we have not the strength to resist that you have in your luxurious homes.”
“Pardon me,” said Mrs. Clifton, touched by these words, half bitter, half pathetic; “let me, at any rate, thank you for the service you have done me now. When you are released from your confinement, come to me. If you wish to change your mode of life and live honestly henceforth, I will give you the chance.”