the wounded spirit that cometh from the sin of those we love, who can bear?"
"Ronald failed in military duty, and lost his commission, and changed his name to Brown. We came to New-York. This was a dark time, father. I was sometimes, for weeks, alone with my child. He came to me to die. I remembered Him who forgiveth liberally, and upbraideth not. I watched him, day and night, till he died. May I not hope for him? but, alas!—alas! his life was a continual violation of God's laws. Towards the last his mind was gone.—Poor Ronald!"
"I went to the British consul. He was very kind to me; and from some English people, with true English hearts, he got money enough to send me and Juliet home to you. I was on board the ship when, as I wrote to you, symptoms of the varioloid appeared. I was sent off. Juliet and I both had the disease. My disappointment aggravated it with me. I was left low. I have worked a little since, and sometimes hoped to earn money to go home to you. I had spent, in my sickness, all that was given to me. I have written but once, hoping always to have something better to write. But it's all over now! Don't mourn about it, father—nor you, dear sister,—it is God's will, and never—never has it seemed hard to me to bend to his will. When poor Ronald went astray from His will—that I felt to be hard."
