"
He then told her of that time of his life to which allusion has been
made when, tossed about by doubts and difficulties in London, like a
cork on the waves, he plunged into eight-and-forty hours' dissipation
with a stranger.
"Happily I awoke almost immediately to a sense of my folly," he
continued. "I would have no more to say to her, and I came home. I
have never repeated the offence. But I felt I should like to treat
you with perfect frankness and honour, and I could not do so without
telling this. Do you forgive me?"
She pressed his hand tightly for an answer.
"Then we will dismiss it at once and for ever!--too painful as it is
for the occasion--and talk of something lighter."
"O, Angel--I am almost glad--because now YOU can forgive ME! I have
not made my confession. I have a confession, too--remember, I said
so."
"Ah, to be sure! Now then for it, wicked little one."
"Perhaps, although you smile, it is as serious as yours, or more so."
"It can hardly be more serious, dearest."
"It cannot--O no, it cannot!" She jumped up joyfully at the hope.
"No, it cannot be more serious, certainly," she cried, "because 'tis
just the same! I will tell you now."
She sat down again.
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