so. O no--she never did. She left Toneborough, and later
on appeared under another name at Exonbury, in the next county, where she
was not known. It is very seldom that I go down into that part of the
country, but in passing through Exonbury, on one occasion, I learnt that
she was quite a settled resident there, as a teacher of music, or
something of the kind. That much I casually heard when I was there two
or three years ago. But I have never set eyes on her since our original
acquaintance, and should not know her if I met her.'

'Did the child live?' asked the doctor.

'For several years, certainly,' replied his friend. 'I cannot say if she
is living now. It was a little girl. She might be married by this time
as far as years go.'

'And the mother--was she a decent, worthy young woman?'

'O yes; a sensible, quiet girl, neither attractive nor unattractive to
the ordinary observer; simply commonplace. Her position at the time of
our acquaintance was not so good as mine. My father was a solicitor, as
I think I have told you. She was a young girl in a music-shop; and it
was represented to me that it would be beneath my position to marry her.
Hence the result.'

'Well, all I can say is that after twenty years it is probably too late
to think of mending such a matter. It has doubtless by this time mended
itself. You had better dismiss it from your mind as an evil past your
control. Of course, if mother and daughter are alive, or either, you
might settle something upon them, if you were inclined, and had it to
spare.'

'Well, I haven't much to spare; and I have relations in narrow
circumstances--perhaps narrower than theirs. But that is not the point.
Were I ever so rich I feel I could not rectify the past by money. I did
not promise to enrich her. On the contrary, I told her it would probably
be dire poverty for both of us. But I did promise to make her my wife.'

'Then find her and do it,' said the doctor jocularly as he rose to leave.

'Ah, Bindon. That, of course, is the obvious jest. But I haven't the
slightest desire for marriage; I am quite content to live as I have
lived. I am a bachelor by nature, and instinct, and habit, and
everything. Besides, though I respect her still (for she was not an atom
to blame), I haven't any shadow of love for her. In my mind she exists
as one of those women you think well of, but find uninteresting. It
would be purely with the idea of putting wrong righ