darling, I loved him very much! I wrote to my mother to tell her about it,
and that baby was to be christened after my father; but she sent back my
letter unread, and I never wrote to her again. And one day, when I took up
a newspaper, I saw my mother's death in it; and I heard afterwards that she
said on her dying bed that I was not to be told of her death till she was
put under the ground, for I had been a disgrace and a shame to the family.
And that, they said, was the only time that she mentioned me, after the
week that I ran away.

'My sister Lucy wrote me a very kind letter after my mother died, and sent
me some presents; but I was sorry for it afterwards, for your father kept
writing to her for money, and telling her long tales about the distress I
was in, to make her send us more.

'She often sent us money; but I felt as if I could not bear to take it. And
she used to write me such beautiful letters--to beg me to come to Jesus,
and to remember what my father had said to us when he died. She said Jesus
had made her happy, and would make me happy too. I often think now of what
she said, Rosalie.

'Well, after a time I heard that Lucy was married to a clergyman, and your
father heard it too, and he kept writing to her and asking her for money
again and again. And at last came a letter from her husband, in which he
said that he was very sorry to be obliged to tell us that his wife could do
no more for us; and he requested that no more letters on the same subject
might be addressed to her, as they would receive no reply.

'Your father wrote again; but they did not answer it, and since then they
have left the town where they were living, and he lost all clue to them.
And, Rosalie darling, I hope he will never find them again. I cannot bear