"Bessy," Godfrey said at last. And then he stopped as though he
were doubtful how to proceed. She, however, did not say a word, but
walked on quickly, as though her only hope was in catching the party
before her. But they also were walking quickly, for Bella was
determined that she would not be caught.

"Bessy, I must speak to you once of what passed between us at
Liverpool."

"Must you?" said she.

"Unless you positively forbid it."

"Stop, Godfrey," she said. And they did stop in the path, for now
she no longer thought of putting an end to her embarrassment by
overtaking her companions. "If any such words are necessary for
your comfort, it would hardly become me to forbid them. Were I to
speak so harshly you would accuse me afterwards in your own heart.
It must be for you to judge whether it is well to reopen a wound
that is nearly healed."

"But with me it is not nearly healed. The wound is open always."

"There are some hurts," she said, "which do not admit of an absolute
and perfect cure, unless after long years." As she said so, she
could not but think how much better was his chance of such perfect
cure than her own. With her,--so she said to herself,--such curing
was all but impossible; whereas with him, it was as impossible that
the injury should last.