tion
about her, or had ever heard of her husband. I wrote all this, and much
more of the same kind, in the strain of frank confidence a son might
employ towards his father, particularly when they had long lived
together in relations of the dearest and closest affection. I waited
eagerly for his answer. Some weeks went over, and then there came a
letter, not from him, but from her. The whole mischief was out: he had
given her my letter, and said, 'Answer it.' I will show you her
epistle one of these days. It is really clever. There wasn't a word
of reproach,--not an angry syllable in the whole of it She was pained,
fretted, deeply fretted by what I had written, but she acknowledged
that I had, if I liked to indulge them, reasonable grounds for all my
distrusts, though, perhaps, it might have been more generous to oppose
them. At first, she said, she had resolved to satisfy all my doubts by
the names and circumstances of her connections, with every detail of
family history and fortune; but, on second thoughts, her pride revolted
against a step so offensive to personal dignity, and she had made up her
mind to confine these revelations to my father, and then leave his roof
forever. 'Writing,' continued she, 'as I now do, without his knowledge
of what I say,--for, with a generous confidence in me that I regret is
not felt in other quarters, he has refused to read my letter,--I may
tell you that I shall place my change of purpose on such grounds as can
never possibly endanger your future relations with your father. He shall
never suspect, in fact, from anything in my conduct, that my departure
was influenced in the slightest degree by what has fallen from
_you_. The reasons I will give him for my step will refer solely
to circumstances that refer to myself. Go back, therefore, in all
confidence and love, and give your whole affection to one who needs and
who deserves it!

"There was, perhaps, a slight tendency to dilate upon what ought to
constitute my duties and regards; but, on the whole, the letter was
well written and wonderfully dispassionate. I was sorely puzzled how to
answer it, or what course to take, and might have been more so, when my
mind was relieved by a most angry epistle from my father, accusing
me roundly, not only of having wilfully forsaken him, but having
heartlessly insulted the very few who compassionated his lonely lot, and
were even ready to share it.

"This ended our correspondence, and I never wro