'
When I looked in her face, I realised for the first time that not
even such a passion of pity as that which had aged me is so cruel in
its ravages as Remorse. To gaze at her was so painful that I turned
my eyes away.
When I could speak I said,
'I have forgiven you from the bottom of my heart, mother, but, if
that does not give you comfort, is there anything that will?'
'Nothing, Henry, nothing but what is impossible for me ever to
get--the forgiveness of the wronged child herself. _That_ I can never
get in this world. I dare only hope that by prayers and tears I may
get it in the end. Oh, Henry, if I were in heaven I could never rest
until I had sought her out, and found her and thrown myself on her
neck and said, "Forgive your persecutor, my dear, or this is no place
for me."'
II
As soon as I reached London, thinking that Wilderspin was still on
the Continent, I went first to D'Arcy's studio, but was there told
that D'Arcy was away--that he had been in the country for a long
time, busy painting, and would not return for some months.
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