Mandeville read this letter a second time to assure himself that its contents were what they seemed, and when satisfied on this point, he stood mute for a brief space of time, as if to fully take in the astonishing truth that Eveline, his only, his beloved child, had so far forgotten her duly and her promise, yes, her solemn promise, as to leave her home and _his_ care, for the love of a stranger! At last the great reality seemed to enter his soul in all its crushing force, tearing from his heart the affections that had clustered around his only child for years, from his bosom the hopes of a lifetime, and leaving him a desolate, smitten, soul-chilled being, with all the beauty and brightness of life departed! Oh, ye children of affectionate parents! beware how you crush the hearts that have "nourished and cherished" you as only parents' hearts can do! God will smite the undutiful child with a curse! Bear and forbear, even if the commands of those appointed over you should seem to be unjust. Remember their labor, and toil and suffering in your behalf, and spare, oh! spare them in their old age, when their bodies are ripening for the grave, and their spirits for the skies. Let not their gray hairs go down to the chambers of the dead in sorrow, nor their failing strength be suddenly brought low by the anguish _you_ have inflicted upon their spirits; but spare them as you would be spared! Several minutes elapsed before Mr. Mandeville could collect his scattered and stunned thoughts together. The blow was so sudden, the shock so terrible, they almost prostrated him. He walked up and down the room, with paleness on his cheeks, and a load in his bosom. The only evidence he manifested of the great grief that was consuming him was an occasional groan, which came up from the great deep of his heart, as though they were forced out by some unseen or over-mastering power. He was like the tall oak of the forest when blasted by the fiery thunderbolt! What a sad picture! At length the exclamation burst forth from his lips, as though the overcharged heart would relieve itself in words: "Oh, my God, pity me!" and he clasped his hands, and pressed them upon his laboring breast, as if to still its tumult. Then came another groan, accompanied by a deep, soul-desponding "Oh!" And the strong man was calm. But such a calmness! It seemed as if years of suffering had stamped their impress upon his brow, and in his face, in those brief moments of agony! Ah, how true it is, that the soul may grow old in a day! After a time he again took up the letters and perused them.