The family had accepted an invitation to spend a few days with an intimate friend, who resided near Tunbridge Wells, but as Emma did not wish to go into company at present, she was excused, and took leave of her parents and sisters with the tenderest expressions of attachment, and said she hoped they would enjoy the visit. On their return they were informed by the housekeeper that Miss Emma had not been home since the day after they left, but had requested her to present the following letter to her father as soon as she saw him:—
"My dear Father,—Before you receive this, I shall have committed an act which will plunge you and every one of our family into the greatest distress; but I have been compelled to it by dire necessity. I could not conquer my passion for Captain Orme, and am therefore now his wife. Had I not consented, my life would have fallen a sacrifice to my feelings; and as I am not prepared to die, I judged it prudent to perpetuate a life, with some chance for happiness, rather than lose it, with a certain prospect of misery. I hope you and my dear mother will forgive me; and if you cannot suffer me to visit you, I hope you will pray for me. My present home is at the Colonel's, and though I do not expect to find it such a one as that which I have left, yet I trust it will not be without its comforts. With every affectionate regard to you, my dear Mamma, and sisters, and brothers, I am your undutiful, yet much attached,
"Emma."
A SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING.
The distress into which the Holmes' family were plunged, on hearing the contents of the letter just referred to, exceeds all description; and though, during the first ebullition of their grief, they gave utterance to heavy censures and bitter reproaches, yet, on cooler reflection, they felt more disposed to pity than blame the poor deluded Emma. "A deceived heart," said her father, "hath led her astray, and she needs not the vial of our displeasure to fill up the bitter cup which she has to drink. We, as a family, have had," he continued, "a larger proportion of happiness for a long series of years than has fallen to the lot of most; and if, in the decline of life, it should please an all-wise Providence to cast over us the clouds of sorrow, we must not repine, but rather bow in submission to his righteous will, and pray for wisdom and for grace, to guide and support us, when walking through the darkness by which we are now surrounded."
"But," said Mrs. Holmes, "this is an evil which I did not expect. I thought she had too much regard for her own honour, and too much respect for our feelings, to steal away from us in such a clandestine manner, as though her home were a prison, and her parents tyrants. She deserves all she may suffer; and if she has not become as callous as a rock, must endure a martyrdom of anguish."
"Yes, my dear, but she is still our child; and though she has torn herself away from us, we must not abandon her."
"Abandon her! no, impossible! I can never forget that I gave her birth; that I watched over her in infancy and childhood; and that she was the pride of my heart in my old age. It is the strength of my affection that gives me such intense pain when I think of her ungrateful conduct."