‘Knowing what I know, knowing how happiness--the purest and deepest--was within my reach, and that I let it go, knowing that the bitterest miseries of my life were engendered in my own perverted mind, knowing that I made the misery of the being I fondly loved--I feel that I can no longer support the burden of a life without hope. Every chain must wear out in time. Mine was worn to attenuation before to-night--this last blow snaps it. To-morrow, when the world wakes to its petty round of cares and joys, my troubles will be over. You will find me as calm as if my life had been all peace. Saint and sinner are equal in death. ‘God bless you, poor child. May He be kinder to you than your earthly father has been. Love I could not give you--but the wealth which is mine to bestow I give you freely. Take warning from my miserable fate, and do not marry without the certainty that you are beloved. Your fortune will mark you out as a prey for every adventurer. ‘Should there be an inquiry about my death you can show this letter to the coroner. Should things pass, as, for your sake, I hope they may, without comment, let these last words of mine be sacred, the one only confidence I have ever given to my only child. ‘Enclosed you will find a statement from the principal of the convent where your ill-used mother spent her last days. It may please you some day to visit her grave in that lonely spot, and to weep there for the injuries my love inflicted on her, as I have wept for her this night, tears of blood, wrung from a heart tortured by vain remorse. ‘Your erring, unhappy father, ‘CHRISTIAN HAREFIELD.’ ‘Do you believe now that I did not murder my father?’ cried Beatrix, turning to Cyril, with eyes that flashed indignant scorn through her tears. ‘I never believed otherwise, after we met face to face in the churchyard. I needed but to see you to know that you were innocent, and pure, and true. My suspicion was a monster of my own growth--the offspring of too much thought--and the fear that in winning your love I should seem a worshipper of mammon. Beatrix, I have been weak and despicable in this matter. My love should have been strong enough to withstand even a harder trial. I confess myself unworthy of your forgiveness, and yet I ask you to forgive me.’