t.

Before dinner Sir Harry wrote a letter to his lawyer. The mail-cart
passed through the village on its way to Penrith late in the evening,
and there was time for him to save the post. He thought it incumbent
on him to let Mr. Boltby know that he had changed his mind; and,
though the writing of the letter was not an agreeable task, he did it
at once. He said nothing to Mr. Boltby directly about his daughter,
but he made it known to that gentleman that Cousin George was at
present a guest at Humblethwaite, and that he intended to pay all the
debts without entering into any other specific engagements. Would Mr.
Boltby have the goodness to make out a schedule of the debts? Captain
Hotspur should be instructed to give Mr. Boltby at once all the
necessary information by letter. Then Sir Harry went on to say that
perhaps the opinions formed in reference to Captain Hotspur had been
too severe. He was ashamed of himself as he wrote these words, but
still they were written. If the blackamoor was to be washed white,
the washing must be carried out at all times, at all seasons, and in
every possible manner, till the world should begin to see that the
blackness was going out of the skin.

Cousin George was summoned to meet the girl who loved him in her
mother's morning-room, before they dressed for dinner. He did not
know at all in what way to conduct himself. He had not given a
moment's thought to it till the difficulty flashed upon him as she
entered the apartment. But she had considered it all. She came up to
him quickly, and gave him her lips to kiss, standing there in her
mother's presence.

"George," she said, "dear George! I am so glad that you are here."

It was the first; and it should be the last,--till the fire had done
its work; till the fire should at least have done so much of its work
as to make the remainder easy and fairly sure. He had little to say
for himself, but muttered something about his being the happiest
fellow in the world. It was a position in which a man could hardly
behave well, and neither the mother nor the daughter expected much
from him. A man cannot bear himself gracefully under the weight of a
pardon as a woman may do. A man chooses generally that it shall be
assumed by those with whom he is closely connected that he has done
and is doing no wrong; and, when wronged, he professes to forgive
and to forget in silence. To a woman the act of forgiveness, either
accepted or bestowed, is itself