It was not illness of body that prevented my replying to your first long letter; but papa and Alfred were both at home, and my nerves were so frequently shaken, that I knew it would be impossible to write and therefore did not attempt it, even at the risk of offending, or at least giving pain to you.  I begged mamma to write to Mrs. Hamilton, and tell her all that had occurred, on the receipt of your second, dated February; for I thought while explaining our silence it would relieve herself, which I think it did.  It is six weeks since then and I am only now allowed to write, and have been already obliged to pause more than once in my task; so forgive all incoherences, my dearest Emmeline.  The Manor is to be sold in June:  for my sake, mamma ventured to implore my father to dispose of another estate, which has lately become his, instead of this, but he would not listen to her; and I implored her not to harrow her feelings by vain supplications again.  Alfred is to go to Cambridge, and this increased expense, as it is for him, papa seems to think nothing of, but to my poor mother it is only another subject of uneasiness, not so much for our sakes as for his own.  Temptations of every kind will be around him; his own little income will never be sufficient to enable him to lead that life which his inclination will bid him seek.  Misfortune on every side appears to darken the future; I cannot look forward.  Pray for me, my dearest friend, that I may be enabled to trust so implicitly in the Most High that even now my faith should not for a moment waver.  Oh!  Emmeline, spite of all his harshness, his coldness, and evident dislike, my heart yearns to my father.  Would he but permit me, I would love and respect him as fondly as ever child did a parent, and when, after beholding his cruelty to my mother, my heart has sometimes almost involuntarily reproached him and risen in rebellion against him, the remorse which instantly follows adds to that heavy burden which bows me to the earth.  We leave England in May, if I am sufficiently strong.  I do not think we shall visit London, but travel leisurely along the coast to Dover.  I wish I could see you once more, for I know not if we shall ever meet again, dear Emmeline; but perhaps it is better not, it would only heighten the pain of separation.  I should like much to have written to your kind good mother with this, but I fear my strength will not permit, yet perhaps, if she have one half-hour’s leisure, she will write to me again; her letters indeed are my comfort and support.  I thank your brother Herbert for his many kind and affectionate messages; tell him all you will of our plans, and tell him—­tell him—­his sister Mary will never forget the brother of her childhood—­the kind, the sympathising companion of her youth.  To Percy, too, remember me; and say all your own affection would dictate to Caroline and Ellen.  I would have written to the latter, but my weakness will I know prove my best excuse.  Before I quite conclude, let me say