oman was now the wife of her father.
When Charlotte had finished, she gave her a little time to collect her
scattered spirits, and then asked her if she had never written to her
friends.

"Oh yes, Madam," said she, "frequently: but I have broke their hearts:
they are either dead or have cast me off for ever, for I have never
received a single line from them."

"I rather suspect," said Mrs. Beauchamp, "they have never had your
letters: but suppose you were to hear from them, and they were willing
to receive you, would you then leave this cruel Montraville, and return
to them?"

"Would I!" said Charlotte, clasping her hands; "would not the poor
sailor, tost on a tempestuous ocean, threatened every moment with
death, gladly return to the shore he had left to trust to its deceitful
calmness? Oh, my dear Madam, I would return, though to do it I were
obliged to walk barefoot over a burning desert, and beg a scanty
pittance of each traveller to support my existence. I would endure it
all cheerfully, could I but once more see my dear, blessed mother, hear
her pronounce my pardon, and bless me before I died; but alas! I shall
never see her more; she has blotted the ungrateful Charlotte from her
remembrance, and I shall sink to the grave loaded with her's and my
father's curse."

Mrs. Beauchamp endeavoured to sooth her. "You shall write to them
again," said she, "and I will see that the letter is sent by the first
packet that sails for England; in the mean time keep up your spirits,
and hope every thing, by daring to deserve it."

She then turned the conversation, and Charlotte having taken a cup of
tea, wished her benevolent friend a good evening.

CHAPTER XXII.

SORROWS OF THE HEART.

WHEN Charlotte got home she endeavoured to collect her thoughts, and
took up a pen in order to address those dear parents, whom, spite of her
errors, she still loved with the utmost tenderness, but vain was every
effort to write with the least coherence; her tears fell so fast
they almost blinded her; and as she proceeded to describe her unhappy
situation, she became so agitated that she was obliged to give over the
attempt and retire to bed, where, overcome with the fatigue her mind had
undergone, she fell into a slumber which greatly refreshed her, and she
arose in the morning with spirits more adequate to the painful task she
had to perform, and, after several attempts, at length concluded the
following letter to her mother--