woke in me a remorse which can never die. For, alas, Olive, I have more
to unfold! My remorse, like my crimes, was selfish at the root, and I
wreaked it on her, who, if guilty, was less guilty than I.

"One day I came to her, restless and angry, unable to hide the worm that
was continually gnawing at my heart. She saw it there, and her proud
spirit rose; she poured on me a torrent of reproachful words. I answered
them as one who had erred like me was sure to answer. Poor wretch! I
reviled her as having been the cause of my misery. When I saw her in her
fury, I contrasted her image with that of the pale, patient, trusting
creature I had left that morning--my wife, my poor Sybilla--until,
hating myself, I absolutely loathed _her_--the enchantress who had been
my undoing. With her shrill voice yet pursuing me, I precipitately left
the house. Next day mother and child had disappeared! Whither, I knew
not; and I never have known, though I left no effort untried to solve a
mystery which made me feel like a _murderer_.

"Nevertheless, I believe that they are still alive--these wretched two.
If I did not, I should almost go mad at times.

"Olive, have pity on your father, and hearken to what I implore. Whilst
I live, I shall continue this search--but I may die without having had
the chance of making atonement. In that case I entreat of my daughter
Olive to stand between her father and his sin. If you have no other
ties--if you never marry, but live alone in the world--seek out and
protect that child! Remember, she is of your own blood--_she_, at
least, never wronged you. In showing mercy to her, you do so to me,
your father; who, when you read this, will have been for years among the
dead, though the evil that he caused may still remain unexpiated. Oh!
think that this is his voice crying out from the dust, beseeching you to
absolve his memory. Save me from the horrible thought, now haunting me
evermore, that the being who owes me life may one day heap curses on her
father's name!

"Herewith enclosed you will find instructions respecting an annuity I
wish paid to--to the woman. It was placed in----'s bank by Mr. Wyld,
whom, however, I deceived concerning it--I am now old enough in the
school of hypocrisy. Hitherto the amount has never been claimed.

"Olive, my daughter, forgive me! Judge me not harshly. I never would
have asked this of you while your mother lived--your mother, whom _I
loved_, though I wronged her so grievous