'There was a generous friend of mine, once; more a father to me
than a friend;' said Edward, 'who never would have judged me, or
any other man, unheard. You were he. So I am certain you will
hear me now.'

The Carrier, with a troubled glance at Dot, who still kept far away
from him, replied, 'Well! that's but fair. I will.'

'You must know that when I left here, a boy,' said Edward, 'I was
in love, and my love was returned. She was a very young girl, who
perhaps (you may tell me) didn't know her own mind. But I knew
mine, and I had a passion for her.'

'You had!' exclaimed the Carrier. 'You!'

'Indeed I had,' returned the other. 'And she returned it. I have
ever since believed she did, and now I am sure she did.'

'Heaven help me!' said the Carrier. 'This is worse than all.'

'Constant to her,' said Edward, 'and returning, full of hope, after
many hardships and perils, to redeem my part of our old contract, I
heard, twenty miles away, that she was false to me; that she had
forgotten me; and had bestowed herself upon another and a richer
man. I had no mind to reproach her; but I wished to see her, and
to prove beyond dispute that this was true. I hoped she might have
been forced into it, against her own desire and recollection. It
would be small comfort, but it would be some, I thought, and on I
came. That I might have the truth, the real truth; observing
freely for myself, and judging for myself, without obstruction on