theme
was exhausted found another, and had always her parry prepared as often as
I directed a reflection or an enquiry to the re-opening of the question
which she had taken so much pains to close.

That night I was troubled. I was already upbraiding myself. I could not
sleep, and at last sat up in bed, and cried. I lamented my weakness in
having assented to Doctor Bryerly's and my cousin's advice. Was I not
departing from my engagement to my dear papa? Was I not consenting that
my Uncle Silas should be induced to second my breach of faith by a
corresponding perfidy?

Lady Knollys had done wisely in despatching Doctor Bryerly so promptly;
for, most assuredly, had he been at Knowl next morning when I came down I
should have recalled my commission.

That day in the study I found four papers which increased my perturbation.
They were in dear papa's handwriting, and had an indorsement in these
words--'Copy of my letter addressed to ----, one of the trustees named in
my will.' Here, then, were the contents of those four sealed letters which
had excited mine and Lady Knollys' curiosity on the agitating day on which
the will was read.

It contained these words:--

'I name my oppressed and unhappy brother, Silas Ruthyn, residing at my
house of Bartram-Haugh, as guardian of the person of my beloved child, to
convince the world if possible, and failing that, to satisfy at least all
future generations of our family, that his brother, who knew him best,
had implicit confidence in him, and that he deserved it. A cowardly and
preposterous slander, originating in political malice, and which never have
been whispered had he not been poor and imprudent, is best silenced by this
ordeal of purification. All I possess goes to him if my child dies under
age; and the custody of her person I commit meanwhile to him alone, knowing
that she is as safe in his as she could have been under my own care. I rely
upon your remembrance of our early friendship to make this known wherever
an opportunity occurs, and also to say what your sense of justice may
warrant.'

The other letters were in the same spirit. My heart sank like lead as I
read them. I quaked with fear. What had I done? My father's wise and noble
vindication of our dishonoured name I had presumed to frustrate. I had,
like a coward, receded from my easy share in the task; and, merciful
Heaven, I had broken my faith with the dead!

With these letters in my hand, white with fear, I fl