"Come and sit down, dear don't excite yourself so much. We will talk
quietly," he replied, with a pitiful effort to speak soothingly, for he
made no question that her long brooding had affected her mind.

"Quietly! How do you suppose I can talk quietly?" she exclaimed
excitedly, in her nervous irritation throwing off the hand which he had
laid on her arm. "Henry, see here, I want to ask you something. Supposing
anybody had done something bad and had been very sorry for it, and then
had forgotten it all, forgotten it wholly, would you think that made them
good again? Would it seem so to you? Tell me!"

"Yes, surely; but it isn't necessary they should forget, so long us
they're sorry."

"But supposing they had forgotten too?"

"Yes, surely, it would be as if it had never been."

"Henry," she said, her voice dropping to a low, hushed tone of wonder,
while her eyes were full of mingled awe and exultation, "what if I were
to forget it, forget that you know, forget it all, everything, just as if
it had never been?"

He stared at her with fascinated eyes. She was, indeed, beside herself.
Grief had made her mad.. The significance of his expression seemed to
recall her to herself, and she said--

"You don't understand. Of course not. You think I'm crazy. Here, take it.
Go somewhere and read it. Don't stay here to do it. I couldn't stand to
look on. Go! Hurry! Read it, and then come back."