attitude that of profound humiliated dejection.

"Incredible!" said he at length. "I have always suspected, and so indeed
has my uncle, that Darrell had some cause of complaint against your
mother. Perhaps he might have supposed that she had not sufficiently
watched over his daughter, or had not sufficiently inquired into the
character of the governess whom she recommended to him; and that this had
led to an estrangement between Darrell and your mother, which could not
fail to extend somewhat to yourself. But such misunderstandings can
surely now be easily removed. Talk of his not reading a letter addressed
to him by you! Why, do I not remember, when I was on a visit to my
schoolfellow, his son, what influence you, a mere child yourself, had
over that grave, busy man, then in the height of his career--how you
alone could run without awe into his study--how you alone had the
privilege to arrange his books, sort his papers--so that we two boys
looked on you with a solemn respect, as the depositary of all his state
secrets--how vainly you tried to decoy that poor timid Matilda, his
daughter, into a share of your own audacity!--Is not all this true?"

"Oh yes, yes--old days gone for ever!"

"Do I not remember how you promised that, before I went back to school,
I should hear Darrell read aloud--how you brought the volume of Milton
to him in the evening--how he said, 'No, to-morrow night; I must now
go to the House of Commons'--how I marvelled to hear you answer boldly,
'To-morrow night George will have left us, and I have promised that he
shall hear you read'--and how, looking at you under those dark brows with
serious softness, he said: 'Right: promises once given, must be kept.
But was it not rash to promise in another's name?'--and you answered,
half gently, half pettishly, 'As if you could fail me!' He took the book