Grey was not likely to
say. But his wife guessed all, then and afterward.
He proceeded to tell her how, in searching these papers, among a heap
of discreditable letters he had lighted upon two or three, pure as white
lilies found lying upon a refuse heap, signed "Christian Oakley."
"I read them--I was obliged to read them--but I did so privately, and I
put them in my pocket before the dean saw them. No one ever cast
eyes upon them except myself. I took them home with me and kept
them, And I keep them now, for they first taught me what she was--this
chosen wife of mine. They let me into the secret of that simple, gentle.
innocent, girlish heart; they made me feel the worth of it, even though it
was being thrown away on a worthless man. And I suspect, from that
time I wanted it for my own."
He went on to say how he had first made acquaintance with her--on
business grounds partly, connected with her father's sudden death, but
also intending, as soon as he felt himself warranted in taking such a
liberty, to return these letters, and tell her in a plain, honest, fatherly
manner what a risk she had run, and what a merciful escape she had
made from this young man, who, Dr. Grey then felt certain, would
never again dare to appear at Avonsbridge.
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