‘Forgive me, my poor child, for bringing this sorrow to you; but it may be the means of saving you from a life of misery, or of leading you to one of happiness.’
There was a subdued element of solemnity in this—it was so calm, so earnest, that she remained silent. He imagined that he understood; but he was mistaken. She did not herself yet understand the complicated emotions which had been stirred within her. She had tried to put away those sad visions, but could not: the sorrowful face of the mother was always looking wistfully at her out of the mists. She ought to have been filled with bitterness by the account of the crime—for crime it surely was—which had wrought so much mischief, and the proof of which appeared to be so strong. Instead of that, she felt sorry for Mr Hadleigh. Here was the reason for the gloom in which he lived—remorse lay heavily upon him. Here, too, was the reason for all his kindliness to her, when he was so cold to others. She was sorry for him.
Hope came to her relief, dim at first, but growing brighter as she reflected. Might there not be some error in the counts against him? She saw that in thinking of the misfortunes of his friend Laurence, passion had caused Austin Shield to exaggerate the share Mr Hadleigh had in bringing them about. Might it not be that in a similar way he had exaggerated and misapprehended what he had been told by the man who denounced Mr Hadleigh as the person who had employed him to spread the fatal lie? Whether or not this should prove to be the case, it was clear that until Mr Shield’s mind was disabused of the belief that Philip’s father had been the cause of his sorrow and her mother’s, there was no possibility of effecting a reconciliation between the two men. But if all his charges were well founded—what then?... She was afraid to think of what might be to come after.
Still holding her hand, he made a movement towards the door. Then she spoke:
‘I want you to say again that whilst I keep your secret, you leave me free to speak to Mr Hadleigh about ... about the things you have told me.’
‘Yes, if you still doubt me.’
‘I will speak,’ she said deliberately, ‘not because I doubt you, but because I believe you are mistaken.’
Again that long look of reverent admiration of her trustfulness, and then:
‘Act as your own heart tells you will be wisest and kindest.’