CHARLES.
LETTER XIII.
Charles to William.
Edward is much better, which gives me great pleasure on every account; his hot-headed antagonist may now safely return to his regiment. Edward was very anxious about him: if I should die, said he, when the surgeon thought him in danger, pray intreat Sir Charles to endeavour to obtain a pardon for young Atkins, who has only his commission to depend on; he is passionate, I knew it, and yet provoked him by my unfeeling jest; if I recover, I will be more prudent for the future. It gave me great pleasure to hear him talk so; and I hope this illness will make a good impression on his mind.
Three o’clock in the afternoon.—What an agreeable surprise—my father is just arrived, and does not disapprove of my conduct! He turned pale when he heard of the robbery, and thanked heaven that had preserved him a son, whose loss he should have deplored with his latest breath. I tell you this in the pride of my heart; how sweet is the praise of a parent! Edward was glad to see him, and acknowledged his fault. I must not be long absent from this dear parent. Adieu.
CHARLES.
LETTER XIV.
Charles to William.
Edward is so far recovered as to be able to travel; he is to set off to-morrow for Grandison Hall, and I am to return to my tutor. When I reach home I will finish this letter.
Well, here I am once more with my good friends. I reached home without meeting with any disagreeable occurrence, and my tutor received me with his usual kindness, but I observed a gloom on his countenance which made me very uneasy. Before he went to bed, he began to write a letter, and was visibly agitated while he was writing. As I know the Doctor has such firmness of mind that a trifle would not affect him, I was very desirous to know what was the matter, and I think my curiosity arose from affection, yet I am afraid it has led me to act wrong, for when he left the room for a moment, I crept softly to his writing table to read the unfinished letter. It was to a brother who had sustained some heavy loss in trade, which involved him and a large family in the greatest distress. I suddenly threw down the letter, before I had read half of it, as if I had been committing a robbery, and severely reproached myself for having pryed into his secret, though I think I was led to it by the restless anxiety I felt when I saw him unhappy; but this does not excuse me—I have been very much to blame—I blush for shame—I have injured my friend, and I have injured myself; I shall be afraid to look him in the face; what a coward does guilt make us! I can write no more, I am out of humour with myself.
CHARLES.