"It is useless."

"Let me write, mother. I will call him dear grandfather, and I am
sure he will send you some money then: perhaps he will send for
us to go to Liverpool, and live in his great house, and have
servants to wait upon us."

"Alas, my child, I have given up all hope of ever seeing him
again in this world. In my letters I confessed my fault, and
begged his forgiveness. He cannot be alive, or I am sure my last
letters would have melted his heart."

"Haven't you any brothers and sisters, mother?"

"I had one sister; and I have written several letters to her, but
with no better success. They may be all dead. I fear they are."

"And your mother?"

"She died when I was young. I know Jane would have answered my
letters if she had received them."

"She was your sister?"

"Yes; she must be dead; and I suppose my father's property must
be in the hands of strangers, covering their floors with soft
carpets, and their tables with nice food, while I lie here in
misery, and my poor child actually suffers from hunger;" and the
afflicted mother clasped her daughter in her arms, and wept as