lurking tenderness for the memory of past
affection, nor yet to remind me of my former folly, but chiefly that I
may compare my son's features and countenance with this, as he grows up,
and thus be enabled to judge how much or how little he resembles his
father--if I may be allowed to keep him with me still, and never to
behold that father's face again--a blessing I hardly dare reckon upon.

It seems Mr. Huntingdon is making every exertion to discover the place of
my retreat. He has been in person to Staningley, seeking redress for his
grievances--expecting to hear of his victims, if not to find them
there--and has told so many lies, and with such unblushing coolness, that
my uncle more than half believes him, and strongly advocates my going
back to him and being friends again. But my aunt knows better: she is
too cool and cautious, and too well acquainted with both my husband's
character and my own to be imposed upon by any specious falsehoods the
former could invent. But he does not want me back; he wants my child;
and gives my friends to understand that if I prefer living apart from
him, he will indulge the whim and let me do so unmolested, and even
settle a reasonable allowance on me, provided I will immediately deliver
up his son. But heaven help me! I am not going to sell my child for
gold, though it were to save both him and me from starving: it would be
better that he should die with me than that he should live with his
father.

Frederick showed me a letter he had received from that gentleman, full of
cool impudence such as would astonish any one who did not know him, but
such as, I am convinced, none would know better how to answer than my
brother. He gave me no account of his reply, except to tell me that he
had not acknowledged his acquaintance with my place of refuge, but rather
left it to be inferred that it was quite unknown to him, by saying it was
useless to apply to him, or any other of my relations, for information on
the subject, as it appeared I had been driven to such extremity that I
had concealed my retreat even from my best friends; but that if he had
known it, or should at any time be made aware of it, most certainly Mr.
Huntingdon would be the last person to whom he should communicate the
intelligence; and that he need not trouble himself to bargain for the
child, for he (Frederick) fancied he knew enough of his sister to enable
him to declare, that wherever she might be, or however situa