’Hotel du Grand Monarque.  Aix-la-Chapelle,
Sept. 18th.

’My Dearest James,—­As a mere matter of honesty and justice, I may venture to write to you.  You always accepted from dear grandmamma the income from the money in the Stocks.  I did not know that half of it has since come to me, till Lord Ormersfield paid me this last year’s dividend; and if you will not have his enclosed cheque for it, put it in the fire, for I will never have it in any form.  It is not my uncle’s, but my own; and if you would make me very happy, write to me here.  You must not suppose that I am trying to buy a letter; but I look on this as yours, and I thought you had it till Lord Ormersfield told me about it.  We met him and Louis quite unexpectedly—­the best thing that has happened to me for years, though they told me much that grieves me exceedingly—­but I cannot write about it till I know that I may.  Tell me of dear Isabel and the babes.  My heart yearns after them! it would leap up at the sight of a stone from the Terrace!

’Your ever affectionate
‘Clara.’

His first impulse was, as though he feared to repent, to turn to his desk, the tears of feeling still in his eyes, and dash off these words:—­

’Your bounty, my dearest sister, is scarcely less welcome than the forgiving spirit which prompted it.  I will not conceal that I was sorely in need of means to supply Isabel with the comforts that she requires.  That your affection can survive my treatment last year, makes me equally grateful to you and ashamed of what then took place.’

He scarcely dared to look upon those phrases.  Great as were his needs, and kindly as the proffer was made, it was new and painful to him to be under any such obligation, and he could hardly bend his spirit to know that never again should he be able to feel that he had never been beholden for money to a living creature.  And while he felt it due to his sister to own the full extent of the benefit, he weighed his words as he wrote on, lest the simplest facts should look like a craving for further assistance.

Charlotte came up to remove the breakfast, and he looked up to give an order for some nourishing dainty for her mistress, adding, ’What did that mutton come to?  No, I am not displeased with you, but Miss Clara has sent me some money.’

His assurance was needed, for Charlotte went down thinking she had never seen master look so stern.  He had spoken from a sense that the truth was due to the generous girl, but each word had been intense pain.  He wrote on, often interrupted by little riots among the children, and finally by a sharp contention, the twins having possessed themselves of a paper-knife, which Kitty, with precocious notions of discipline, considered as forbidden; and little Mercy was rapped over the fingers in the struggle.  The roar brought down interference, and Kitty fell into disgrace; but when, after long persuasion, she was induced to yield the paper-cutter, kiss and make friends, Mercy, instead of embracing, locked her fingers into her dark curls, and tugged at them in a way so opposite to her name, that all Kitty’s offence was forgotten in her merit for stopping her scream half-way at the sight of her father’s uplifted finger, and his whisper of ‘Poor mamma!’