pressing poverty under which she had suffered the whole term of her existence, with partial relief, and of this information, so necessary for her happiness, she had been cruelly deprived—deprived for a purpose she would die rather than accomplish.
If any doubts remained on this head, they were dispersed by finding a letter in the first drawer she opened, and which had unquestionably been placed there during the time she was at breakfast. She had never seen the handwriting before; but it was sealed with a crest, and the letters A. J. H. beneath it. His name was Arthur James—he, the dear, emphatic he, alone could be the writer!
Yes, he was, and the letter was written as "the Doctor"—he "who looks all through the affairs of men" tells us, love-letters should be written "freely, fully, artlessly, passionately, and sincerely," the protestations of love being followed by an account of the kindness of his brother, grandsire, and aunt—the utter impracticableness of Lady Anne, his certainty of the persecution she was undergoing for his sake, and his earnest desire that she would seek refuge with her uncle at Rotheles Castle, until his return, when it was probable that he should have a ship, in which case Lady Anne could not possibly refuse him; he concluded with saying, that he trusted her sister was very kind, and would neither counteract his wishes, nor encourage those of any other lover during his painful absence; and his hopes on that point were
