from those who he knew would hamper him, when so small an effort was wanted, his dream of a destiny was idle; what was the prospect of a hundred pounds from his father in comparison with jeopardy to this?  He still felt deeply the pain his disgrace had inflicted upon his father and mother, but he was getting stronger, and reflected that as he had run his chance with them for parents, so they must run theirs with him for a son.

He had nearly settled down to this conclusion when he received a letter from his father which made his decision final.  If the prison rules had been interpreted strictly, he would not have been allowed to have this letter for another three months, as he had already heard from me, but the governor took a lenient view, and considered the letter from me to be a business communication hardly coming under the category of a letter from friends.  Theobald’s letter therefore was given to his son.  It ran as follows:—­

“My dear Ernest, My object in writing is not to upbraid you with the disgrace and shame you have inflicted upon your mother and myself, to say nothing of your brother Joey, and your sister.  Suffer of course we must, but we know to whom to look in our affliction, and are filled with anxiety rather on your behalf than our own.  Your mother is wonderful.  She is pretty well in health, and desires me to send you her love.

“Have you considered your prospects on leaving prison?  I understand from Mr Overton that you have lost the legacy which your grandfather left you, together with all the interest that accrued during your minority, in the course of speculation upon the Stock Exchange!  If you have indeed been guilty of such appalling folly it is difficult to see what you can turn your hand to, and I suppose you will try to find a clerkship in an office.  Your salary will doubtless be low at first, but you have made your bed and must not complain if you have to lie upon it.  If you take pains to please your employers they will not be backward in promoting you.

“When I first heard from Mr Overton of the unspeakable calamity which had befallen your mother and myself, I had resolved not to see you again.  I am unwilling, however, to have recourse to a measure which would deprive you of your last connecting link with respectable people.  Your mother and I will see you as soon as you come out of prison; not at Battersby—­we do not wish you to come down here at present—­but somewhere else, probably in London.  You need not shrink from seeing us; we shall not reproach you.  We will then decide about your future.

“At present our impression is that you will find a fairer start probably in Australia or New Zealand than here, and I am prepared to find you 75 or even if necessary so far as 100 pounds to pay your passage money.  Once in the colony you must be dependent upon your own exertions.

   “May Heaven prosper them and you, and restore you to us years hence a
   respected member of society.—­Your affectionate father, T. PONTIFEX.”