They brought her hot tea, and Mr. Carr put the brandy into it, and
Anne took it to her on the sofa, and administered it, her own tears
overflowing. She was thinking what an awful blow this would have been
to her own mother.
"Little Maude shall be very dear to me always, Val," she whispered. "This
knowledge will make me doubly tender with her."
He laid his hand fondly upon her, giving her one of his sweet sad smiles
in answer. She could at length understand what feelings, in regard to the
children, had actuated him. But from henceforth he would be just to all
alike; and Maude would receive her share of correction for her own good.
"I always said you did not give me back the letter," observed Mr. Carr,
when they were alone together later, and Val sat tearing up the letter
into innumerable bits.
"And I said I did, simply because I could not find it. You were right,
Carr, as you always are."
"Not always. But I am sorry it came to light in this way."
"Sorry! it is the greatest boon that could have fallen on me. The secret
is, so to say, off my mind now, and I can breathe as I have not breathed
for years. If ever a heartfelt thanksgiving went up to Heaven one from me
will ascend to-night. And the dowager does not feel the past a bit. She
cared no more for Maude than for any one else. She can't care for any
one. Don't think me harsh, Carr, in saying so.
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