is matter off my mind one way
or other, in order that I may be able to give it fully to the
consideration of subjects of more vital importance to one in my
condition, than marrying and giving in marriage.

"Ever, dear cousin Angela,
"Affectionately yours,
"George Caresfoot."

"P.S.--Remember you have your father to consider in this matter as
well as yourself."

The receipt of this letter plunged Angela into the greatest distress
of mind. It was couched in a tone so courteous and so moderate that it
carried with it conviction of its sincerity and truth. If she only had
been concerned, she would not long have hesitated, but the idea of her
duty to her father rose up before her like a cloud. What was her true
duty under the circumstances? there was the rub!

She took the letter to Mr. Fraser and asked his advice. He read it
carefully, and thought a long while before he answered. The idea of
Angela being united to anybody in marriage, even as a matter of form,
was naturally abominable to him, but he was far too honourable and
conscientious a man to allow his personal likes or dislikes to
interfere with whatever he considered to be his duty. But in the end
he found it impossible to give any fixed opinion.

"My dear," he said, "all that I can suggest is that you should take it
to your father and hear what he has got to say. After all, it is he
who must have your true welfare most at heart. It was into his hands
that I heard your mother, in peculiarly solemn words, consign you and
your interests. Take it to your father, dear, there is no counsel like
that of a father."

Had Mr. Fraser been the father, this would, doubtless, have been true
enough. But though he had known him for so many years, and was privy
to much of his history, he did not yet understand Philip Caresfoot.
His own open and guileless nature did not easily suspect evil in
another, more especially when that other was the father of her whom he
looked upon as the earthly incarnation of all that was holy and pure.

Angela sighed and obeyed--sighed from doubt, obeyed from duty. She
handed the letter to Philip without a word--without a word he read it.

"I want your opinion, father," she said. "I wish to do what is right.
You know how painful what has happened has been for me. You know--or,
if you do not know, you must have guessed--how completely sh