I write with the tears in my eyes, burning to say more.

But no--I am cruelly limited to my actual experience of persons and things.

In less than a month from the time of which I am now writing, events in the money-market (which diminished even my miserable little income) forced me into foreign exile, and left me with nothing but a loving remembrance of Mr.Godfrey which the slander of the world has assailed, and assailed in vain.
Let me dry my eyes, and return to my narrative.
I went downstairs to luncheon, naturally anxious to see how Rachel was affected by her release from her marriage engagement.
It appeared to me--but I own I am a poor authority in such matters--that the recovery of her freedom had set her thinking again of that other man whom she loved, and that she was furious with herself for not being able to control a revulsion of feeling of which she was secretly ashamed.

Who was the man?
I had my suspicions--but it was needless to waste time in idle speculation.

When I had converted her, she would, as a matter of course, have no concealments from Me.