Poor woman! her new affection for him seemed suddenly swept away since he could carry out so much deception towards her.
It was so cruel to leave her all this while blaming her husband; and till lately, when he had spoken of his having "taken care" of her, she had seen nothing but unkindness in the way she had been left dependent.
Sudden enlightenment came as a flash to her; those papers she had kept were of real consequence, and opened up the history of her brother's past. She had, as we know, more than once thought of this—or rather nearly thought it out, and pushed the feeling back with a kind of terror.
To be certain that she had no weapons to strike him with he had broken up her home—to have her near him and watch her actions.
She rose suddenly from her chair: she felt suffocating with the pressure upon her mind. How could she forgive him? She walked quickly up and down her room, her hands clasped closely; then she said aloud, "My husband, forgive me," and then cried, poor thing, till she exhausted herself.
The twilight came on; the factories, so grim by day, blazed out with their myriad lights.
Mrs. Dorriman could not go down; she could not yet forgive. She had some food sent to her, and then prepared to go to bed.
Taking up her Bible mechanically she read and took in nothing she saw; she shut it again and tried to say her prayers. Was there not something about forgiving trespasses that she said twice every day?
There was a severe mental struggle, and it was dark when it was over. She went slowly to her brother's room. He was awake.
"Brother," she said, going up to him and laying her hand upon his, "I have come to say that I forgive!"