roached himself for his ill-bodings as they arose, and he
asked himself why he dreaded a communication from one who had been the
kindest of friends to him, and he anticipated the shame he should feel
if, as was very likely, the letter should contain nothing but kindness.
He requested Hannah to bring candles, and then to sit with Isabella,
while Jane came down to read her letter, for it was addressed to her.
Jane opened it with a trembling hand, and Charles at once guessed its
contents when he saw it consisted of only a few lines. He caught it as
it fell from his sister's hand, and read as follows:

"Mr Rathbone is sorry that he was prevented by an unavoidable
accident from opening Miss Forsyth's letter till yesterday. Mr R.
would have rejoiced to afford substantial assistance to the children
of an old friend; but they who can set the romantic whims of unformed
judgments against the knowledge and experience of a friend who has
passed a long life in the world, prove themselves incapable of being
guided by advice, and of profiting by well-meant and willing kindness.
Mr R. has therefore only to regret that he can be of no further
service, and to hope that Mr and Miss Forsyth will meet with other
friends, and will know better how to value and retain them."

Jane had hid her face in her hands, and was sobbing violently, while
Charles read the letter.

He was almost choked with emotion.

"My poor Jane," he exclaimed, as he hung over her, "that this cruel
letter should have come just now, of all times. What a heart must that
man have who could write to you in such a way. I wish he could see you
now, that he might repent it as he ought to do."

"O Charles!" said Jane, "remember all his kindness to us."

"Remember it!" cried he, "it will stick in my throat as long as I live.
O that I could send him back his bank-notes and his presents, and be
free of all obligation!"

"Nay, dear Charles, do not let us be ungrateful because he is hasty.
His former kindness is not the less noble because of the present
misunderstanding. We must be neither ungrateful nor proud."

"It is plain enough that he never saw you, Jane, or he would have
blushed to insult such a nature as yours. I wish he could hear you
speaking of his kindness just when it is most painful to remember it: he
would feel how little he understands you."

"Never mind what he thinks of me," said Jane, raising her head and
attempting to smile. Sh