There was written there plainly
enough that spretae injuria formae of which she herself was conscious,
but only conscious. Even his eyes, blind as he had been, were
opened,--and he knew that he had been a fool.
"I am sorry that I came to you," he said.
"It would have been better that you should not have done so," she
replied.
"And yet perhaps it is well that there should be no misunderstanding
between us."
"Of course I must tell my brother."
He paused but for a moment, and then he answered her with a sharp
voice, "He has been told."
"And who told him?"
"I did. I wrote to him the moment that I knew my own mind. I owed it
to him to do so. But my letter missed him, and he only learned it the
other day."
"Have you seen him since?"
"Yes;--I have seen him."
"And what did he say? How did he take it? Did he bear it from you
quietly?"
"No, indeed;" and Phineas smiled as he spoke.
"Tell me, Mr. Finn; what happened? What is to be done?"
"Nothing is to be done. Everything has been done. I may as well
tell you all. I am sure that for the sake of me, as well as of your
brother, you will keep our secret. He required that I should either
give up my suit, or that I should,--fight him. As I could not comply
with the one request, I found myself bound to comply with the other.
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