men--a Sister of Charity--happened
to be near enough to the river to rescue her. She was sheltered; she was
pitied; she was encouraged to return to her family. The poor deserted
creature absolutely refused; she could never forget that she had
disgraced them. The good Sister of Charity won her confidence. A retreat
which would hide her from the world, and devote her to religion for the
rest of her days, was the one end to her wasted life that she longed
for. That end was attained in a Priory of Benedictine Nuns, established
in France. There she found protection and peace--there she passed the
remaining years of her life among devoted Sister-friends--and there she
died a quiet and even a happy death.

"You will now understand how my mother's grateful remembrance associated
her with the interests of more than one community of Nuns; and you will
not need to be told what she had in mind when she obtained my father's
promise at the time of her last illness.

"He at once proposed to bequeath the house as a free gift to the
Benedictines. My mother thanked him and refused. She was thinking of me.
'If our son fails to inherit the house from his father,' she said, 'it
is only right that he should have the value of the house in money. Let
it be sold.'

"So here I am--rich already--with this additional sum of money in my
banker's care.

"My idea is to invest it in the Funds, and to let it thrive at interest,
until I grow older, and retire perhaps from service in the Navy.
The later years of my life may well be devoted to the founding of a
charitable institution, which I myself can establish and direct. If
I die first--oh, there is a chance of it! We may have a naval war,
perhaps, or I may turn out one of those incorrigible madmen who risk
their lives in Arctic exploration. In case of the worst, therefore, I
shall leave the interests of my contemplated Home in your honest and
capable hands. For the present good-by, and a prosperous voyage outward
bound."

So the letter ended.

Sydney dwelt with reluctant attention on the latter half of it. The
story of the unhappy favorite of the family had its own melancholy and
sinister interest for her. She felt the foreboding that it might, in
some of its circumstances, be her story too--without the peaceful end.
Into what community of merciful women could _she_ be received, in her
sorest need? What religious consolations would encourage her penitence?
What prayers, what hopes, would