Some time passed before I summoned courage to ring the bell for my servant, and when she came I still dared not utter my father’s name.  I ordered her to bring my breakfast to my room, and was again left alone—­yet still I could make no resolve, but only thought that I might write a note to my father to beg his permission to pay a visit to a relation who lived about thirty miles off, and who had before invited me to her house, but I had refused for then I could not quit my suffering father.  When the servant came back she gave me a letter.

“From whom is this letter[?]” I asked trembling.

“Your father left it, madam, with his servant, to be given to you when you should rise.”

“My father left it!  Where is he?  Is he not here?”

“No; he quitted the house before four this morning.”

“Good God!  He is gone!  But tell how this was; speak quick!”

Her relation was short.  He had gone in the carriage to the nearest town where he took a post chaise and horses with orders for the London road.  He dismissed his servants there, only telling them that he had a sudden call of business and that they were to obey me as their mistress untill his return.

CHAPTER VII

With a beating heart and fearful, I knew not why, I dismissed the servant and locking my door, sat down to read my father’s letter.  These are the words that it contained.

“My dear Child

“I have betrayed your confidence; I have endeavoured to pollute your mind, and have made your innocent heart acquainted with the looks and language of unlawful and monstrous passion.  I must expiate these crimes, and must endeavour in some degree to proportionate my punishment to my guilt.  You are I doubt not prepared for what I am about to announce; we must seperate and be divided for ever.

“I deprive you of your parent and only friend.  You are cast out shelterless on the world:  your hopes are blasted; the peace and security of your pure mind destroyed; memory will bring to you frightful images of guilt, and the anguish of innocent love betrayed.  Yet I who draw down all this misery upon you; I who cast you forth and remorselessly have set the seal of distrust and agony on the heart and brow of my own child, who with devilish levity have endeavoured to steal away her loveliness to place in its stead the foul deformity of sin; I, in the overflowing anguish of my heart, supplicate you to forgive me.

“I do not ask your pity; you must and do abhor me:  but pardon me, Mathilda, and let not your thoughts follow me in my banishment with unrelenting anger.  I must never more behold you; never more hear your voice; but the soft whisperings of your forgiveness will reach me and cool the burning of my disordered brain and heart; I am sure I should feel it even in my grave.  And I dare enforce this request by relating how miserably I was betrayed into