“I cannot sleep till I have, mamma, indeed I cannot.  I ought to have left it for him before I quitted Airslie, but I could then think of nothing but the ardent longing to see you, to hear your voice again; let me write now.”

And believing her words were true, that in all probability she would not sleep while that letter was on her mind, Mrs. Hamilton made no further objection, and rose to place the inkstand and portfolio on a table near her.  Caroline remained still kneeling, and by her attitude Mrs. Hamilton fancied was engaged in secret prayer; her tears were checked as she rose, and it was with firmness she walked to the table and drew a seat beside it.  Anxiously for a few minutes did her mother watch her as she wrote.  At first her hand appeared to tremble, but a successful effort conquered that emotion, and the increasing flush upon her cheek alone proclaimed the agitation of her mind.  So deeply was she engrossed in her painful task, that she did not observe her mother had left the room, and remained absent for a few minutes, returning, however, before she had finished her letter.  Without looking up, she placed the paper in Mrs. Hamilton’s hands, and, leaning her arms on the table, buried her face in her hands.

Mrs. Hamilton folded the letter in perfect silence; but then taking the hand of her daughter from her eyes, she pressed it in hers, and said, in a voice of deep emotion—­

“I am satisfied, my child.  Let this letter be directed and sealed with your own hand, and the name of Lord Alphingham shall never again pass my lips.  It is enough that duty and affection have triumphed over his intentions.  I know not all the evil that might have been yours had he succeeded, but you are restored to me, and may God forgive him as freely as I do.”

With a steady hand Caroline directed and placed her own seal to the letter; and then, exhausted by the agitation of that evening, she leaned her throbbing head against her mother.

“Caroline, my child!” exclaimed a deep and saddened voice beside her.  She started, and looking up, beheld her father, who had been gazing at her an unobserved spectator for the last half hour.

“Forgive me, dearest father.  Oh, let me not sleep to-night without your forgiveness.  Mamma will not cast me from her heart; she has blessed me, and I have injured her even more than you.  Papa, dear papa, oh, speak to me but one word of fondness!” she entreated, as her father drew her to his bosom, and as she ceased, mingled his blessing and forgiveness in that warm embrace.

It was late, so late, that the early morn was beginning to gild the horizon before Mrs. Hamilton had seen her agitated child placed in bed, and persuaded her to compose her spirits and invite sleep.  Fondly her mother watched beside her till the grey dawn had penetrated within the room; and then perceiving that calm, sleep had come at length, she retired to her own apartment.  There sinking on her knees, her