from Tressamer.

His first impulse was to return it unopened, but he thought this might
be doing an injustice, as the letter might contain some explanation,
though hardly any excuse for his strange conduct. He therefore opened
it.

The letter was a long one, taking up many sheets of paper. After the
opening words, it went on:

'I know not what opinion you have formed of me and of my
conduct towards Eleanor Owen. Neither do I write in any hope
of excusing myself. I am past that now, and I shall soon be
past the reach of your anger and of hers.

'Let me begin at the beginning. You remember our childhood,
and you know, none better, the bonds between Eleanor and
myself. But you do not know that, as children, we were
united by those pledges which children sometimes make in
imitation of the serious engagements of later life. Of
course, as we grew older that passed more or less out of
sight, but the memory of it remained--at least, with me.

'I think it was you who first came between us, even at that
early age. I used to think she liked you better than me. But
why dwell on these things? Let me come on to a later time,
the time of her father's death, when I had passed into
manhood, and she was passing into young womanhood.

'That was my first opportunity of showing her my devotion,
and I did so. I paid off her father's debts, and by the time
I had settled everything, and handed over a little sum to
her, I had spent some hundreds of pounds of my own.

'Eleanor was grateful. Whether she had any warmer feeling
for me at that time, I cannot say. But I thought then that
she had, and that she returned my love--not in the degree
that I gave it; no, that could not be. Still, the pleasure
she took in my company, the trust with which she seemed to
lean on me, certainly filled me with the hope of some day
winning her.

'I went to work cautiously. I dreaded her being afraid of my
passion if I let her see its whole force. I never did. I
chained it up when I was with her, and played a mild and
cheerful part. I had my reward. At last, the Christmas after
her father's death, I ventured to speak. She heard me with
no delight, but yet, it seemed, with no great repugnance.
Time soon reconciled her to the idea, and before long, I had
the rapture of hearing her co