she would be. It was impossible for me to know
beforehand that the children were sullen and intractable, or that the
husband's mother was accustomed to make her domineering disposition felt
by every one in the house. I will readily admit that Norah is well out
of this situation. But the harm does not stop here. For all you and
I know to the contrary, the harm may go on. What has happened in this
situation may happen in another. Your way of life, however pure your
conduct may be--and I will do you the justice to believe it pure--is
a suspicious way of life to all respectable people. I have lived long
enough in this world to know that the sense of Propriety, in nine
Englishwomen out of ten, makes no allowances and feels no pity. Norah's
next employers may discover you; and Norah may throw up a situation next
time which we may never be able to find for her again.

"I leave you to consider this. My child, don't think I am hard on you. I
am jealous for your sister's tranquillity. If you will forget the past,
Magdalen, and come back, trust to your old governess to forget it too,
and to give you the home which your father and mother once gave her.
Your friend, my dear, always,

"HARRIET GARTH."

V.

_From Francis Clare, Jun., to Magdalen._

"Shanghai, China, April 23d, 1847.

"MY DEAR MAGDALEN--I have deferred answering your letter, in consequence
of the distracted state of my mind, which made me unfit to write to you.
I am still unfit, but I feel I ought to delay no longer. My sense of
honor fortifies me, and I undergo the pain of writing this letter.

"My prospects in China are all at an end. The Firm to which I was
brutally consigned, as if I was a bale of merchandise, has worn out my
patience by a series of petty insults; and I have felt compelled, from
motives of self-respect, to withdraw my services, which were undervalued
from the first. My returning to England under these circumstances is out
of the question. I have been too cruelly used in my own country to
wish to go back to it, even if I could. I propose embarking on board a
private trading-vessel in these seas in a mercantile capacity, to make
my way, if I can, for myself. How it will end, or what will happen to me
next, is more than I can say. It matters little what becomes of me. I
am a wanderer and an exile, entirely through the fault of others. The
unfeeling desire at home to get rid of me has accomplished its object. I
am got rid of for good.

"The