the bare outline had sufficed. Couched in the insulting language of one whom he scorned to acknowledge as a member of his family, and yet concluded in the name, the arrogated name of De Brooke, nothing could have been more calculated to increase, if possible, the fierceness of his indignant wrath. She dare to dictate to him the course he should pursue with his own! or did she hope to beguile him with glowing descriptions and eloquent pathos? Such finespun sentiment might pass upon the weak, but to him they were but the coverings of artifice, seeking to introduce herself to his notice, and which would avail her nothing. The letter was consigned to the flames; but its spirit, or rather his own constructions, self-applied, were, however despised, indelibly imprinted on his memory.
Thus the writing of Mrs. De Brooke, which, if it did not do good, she had supposed could not do injury, was to act as a perpetual memorial against herself. Through the blessing of Divine Providence her husband was restored to her, but not through any relief obtained from his father. Such was the more than unsuccessfulness of her intercessions: and long would have existed that apathy and disregard of Sir Aubrey towards his son, had he
