LETTER XXXVIII.
William to his Mother.
Oh! my dear mother, poor Emilia had yesterday such a dreadful accident. I do pity her, I never before saw her cry so bitterly. Charles and I were amusing ourselves, working in our little garden; Emilia came running to us sobbing; but you shall hear all.
EMILIA.
My dear brother—I am so sorry.
CHARLES.
Tell me on what account? You astonish me; has any thing befallen my father or mother?
EMILIA.
No, no.— But I am afraid to tell you; it will vex you.
CHARLES.
Tell it me directly; if I may know it.