hat a
very little more would make them mad. Shakespeare says `the lover, the
lunatic, and the poet, are of an imagination all compact.' It matters
little whether it is prose or poetry; there is often more imagination
and more poetry in prose than in rhyme. But to proceed--

"I arose with but one feeling--that of revenge; I say but one feeling,
alas! I had forgotten to mention hatred, the parent of that revenge. I
felt myself mortified and humiliated, cruelly deceived and mocked. My
love for him was now turned to abhorrence, and my sister was an
aversion. I felt that I never could forgive her. My father had not
replied to the colonel's letter; indeed, the gout in his hand prevented
him, or he would probably have done so long before I left my room. Now
that I was once more at his side, he said to me,

"`Barbara, I think it is high time to forgive and forget. I would have
answered the colonel's letter before, but I could not. Now we must
write and ask them to come and pay us a visit.'

"I sat down and wrote the letter, not according to his dictation, which
was all kindness, but stating that my father would never forgive him or
my sister, and requested all correspondence might cease, as it would be
useless.

"`Read what you have said, Barbara.'

"I read the letter as if it was written according to his wishes.

"`That will do, dearest--they'll come back fast enough. I long to have
Ellen in my arms again--she was very precious to me that child, for she
cost the life of your dear mother. I want to ask her why she ran away.
I really believe that it was more from fear of your anger than of mine,
Barbara.'

"I made no reply, but folded the letter and sealed it. As I always
opened the post-bag, I prevented my father from ever receiving the many
letters written by my poor sister, imploring his forgiveness, and did
all I could to excite his anger against her. At last I found out from
her letters, that they had gone to the continent. Months passed. My
poor father fretted sadly at the silence of Ellen, and the supposed
rejection of his kind overtures. His unhappy state of mind had
evidently an effect upon his body; he grew weaker and more querulous
every day. At last a letter arrived from Ellen, which I now blush to
say, gave me inexpressible joy. It announced the death of her husband--
a trifling wound on the thumb having terminated in locked-jaw and death.

"`He is dead, then,' thought I; `if I lost him,