"Don't you think, Frank, that was a thing that I might have been
interested to know--a thing that would raise you immeasurably in
the eyes of a woman--that would show her vastly more of your real
character than she could know by meeting you from day to day as a
friend?"
"It was his secret and not mine, Bertha. It was known to but him
and me. Never was a man more repentant or more bitterly regretful
for a fault--that was in my eyes scarcely a fault at all--except
that he had too rashly assumed me to be the author of the ruin of
the girl he loved. The poor fellow had been half maddened, and was
scarce responsible for his actions. He had already suffered
terribly, and the least I could do was to endeavour to restore his
self respect by showing him that I had entirely forgiven him. Any
kindness that I have shown him he has repaid ten-fold, not only by
saving my life, but in becoming my most sincere and attached
friend. I promised him that I would tell no one, and I have never
done so, and no one to this day knows it, save his father and
mother.
"How then could I tell even you? You must see yourself that it was
impossible that I could tell you.
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