human
I wished to ask you to forgive me, Lady Greystock--to forgive me my many sins toward you! She trembled a little, and said,
gpt
Mr. Erskine, may God forgive _me_ my pride, my anger, my evil thoughts, which have made me say so often I could never see nor pardon you. It seemed to require all her strength to carry out the resolution with which she had entered that room.
human
Of course, she went on,
gpt
Horace Erskine never moved; he was still standing, holding by the heavy writing-table, and his eyes were fastened on the carpet. She went on:
human
Since then your wife, a beautiful and even an accomplished woman, has become my own dear friend. We are living together, and until she has a home of her own, we shall probably go on living together. I have nothing, therefore, to say more, except--except-- Here her voice trembled, and changed, and she was only just able to articulate her last words so as to be understood by her hearers,
gpt
Except about my dear husband's death--better death than life under misapprehension. That too was a blessing perhaps. Let us leave it to the Almighty Judge. I forgive you; if you wish to hear those words from my poor erring lips, you may remember that I have said them honestly, submitting to the will of _him_ who loves us, and from whom I seek mercy for myself.
human
Stop, Lady Greystock; stop! cried Horace.
gpt
In this solemn moment of sincerity, tell me--do you think Eleanor loves me now?
human
I would rather not give any opinion.
gpt
If you have ever formed an opinion, give it. I entreat you to tell me what is, as far as you know, the truth. Does Eleanor love me?
human
Must I speak, father?
gpt
So solemnly entreated, I should say, _yes_.
human
Does Eleanor love me? groaned Horace.
gpt
No,
human
as the newspapers said,
gpt
Lady Greystock always lived with her father now, united to him in faith, and joining him in such a flood of good works that all criticism, all wonderment, all lamentation and argument at
human
was simply run down, overpowered, deluged, drowned. The strong flowing stream of charity was irresistible. The solemn music of its deep waters swallowed up all the surrounding cackle of inharmonious talk. Nothing was heard at Beremouth but prayer and praise--evil tongues passed by that great good house to exercise themselves elsewhere. Evil people found no fitting habitation for their wandering spirits in that home of holy peace. And all his life Mr. Brewer walked humbly, looking at Claudia, and calling her
gpt
She knew why. He had repented with a great sorrow of those early days when he had left her to others' teaching. He had prayed secretly, with strong resolutions, to be blessed with forgiveness. And at last the mercy came--