r was as follows--

"MADAME,--I am directed by Mr. Huntingdon to inform you that
from this day he will hold no communication with you or your
husband.

"He wishes me to add that he has sent all clothes, jewels, and
personal effects belonging to his daughter Nea Huntingdon, now
styling herself Nea Trafford, to the inclosed address, and he
has directed his manager, Mr. Dobson, to strike Mr. Maurice
Trafford's name from the list of clerks. Any attempts to open
any further correspondence with Mr. Huntingdon will be
useless, as all such letters will be returned or destroyed.

"I remain, madame,
"Your humble servant,
"SISTER TERESA."

Inclosed was a check for two hundred pounds and a little slip of paper
with a few penciled lines in Sister Teresa's handwriting.

"For the love of Heaven do not send or come--it would be worse
than useless, he is nearly beside himself with anger; your
maid interceded for you with tears, and has been sent away
with her wages. No one dares to say a word."

Oh, fathers! provoke not your children to wrath. It was that hard,
cruel letter that changed Nea's repentance to unrelenting bitterness.

Instinctively she felt the iron of her father's will enter into her
soul. In a moment she understood, as she had never done before, the
hardness and coldness of his nature, the inflexibility of his purpose;
as well might she dash herself against a rock as expect forgiveness.
Well, she was his own child, her will was strong too, and in the
anguish of her despair she called upon her pride to support her, she
leaned her fainting woman's heart upon that most rotten of reeds.

He had disinherited her, his only child; he had flung her away from
him. Well, she would defy him; and then she remembered his ill-health,
their projected trip to Pau, their happy schemes for the future, till
her heart felt almost broken, but for all that she stood like a
statue, crushing down the pain in the very stubbornness of her pride.

Ah, Nea, unhappy Nea! poor motherless, willful girl; well may she look
round her with that scared, hunted look.

Was this her future home, these poor rooms, this shabby furniture?
Belgrave House closed to her forever. But as she looked round with
that fixed miserable glance, why did the tears suddenly dim her eyes?

Her glance