might be right that Frank should have an opportunity offered him, so that he might escape from his position without disgrace. She would endeavour to give him this opportunity. So, with one deep sigh, she arose, took to herself pen, ink, and paper, and sat herself down again so that the wrenching might begin.
And then, for a moment, she thought of her uncle. Why had he not spoken to her of all this? Why had he not warned her? He who had ever been so good to her, why had he now failed her so grievously? She had told him everything, had had no secret from him; but he had never answered her a word. 'He also must have known,' she said to herself, piteously, 'he also must have known that I could give nothing in return.' Such accusation, however, availed her not at all, so she sat down and slowly wrote her letter.
'Dearest Frank,' she began. She had at first written 'dear Mr. Gresham;' but her heart revolted against such useless coldness. She was not going to pretend she did not love him.
'Dearest Frank,
'Your mother has been here talking to me about our engagement. I do not generally agree with her about such matters; but she has said some things to-day which I cannot but acknowledge to be true. She says, that our marriage would be distressing to your father, injurious to all your family, and ruinous to yourself. If this be so, how can I, who love you, wish for such a marriage?
'I remember my promise, and have kept it. I would not yield to your mother when she desired me to disclaim our engagement. But I do think it will be more prudent if you will consent to forget all that has passed between us—not, perhaps, to forget it; that may not be possible for us—but to let it pass by as though it had never been. If so, if you think so, dear Frank, do not have scruples on my account. What will be best for you, must be best for me. Think what a reflection it would ever be to me, to have been the ruin of one that I love so well!
'Let me have but one word to say that I am released from my promise, and I will tell my uncle that the matter between us is over. It will be painful for us at first; those occasional meetings which must take place will distress us, but that will wear off. We shall always think well of each other, and why should we not be friends? This, doubtless, cannot be done without inward wounds; but such wounds are in God's hands, and He can cure them.
'I know what your first feelings will be on reading this letter;
