"It was some time before he discovered that the submission demanded of him was not to run away again. On learning this, he wrote to his father. He spoke with horror of the personal indignities he had endured; of his imprisonment; of the conduct of Mr. Carter. He did not mean it as such, but his letter grew into an affecting, irresistible appeal that even moved Sir Boyvill. His stupid pride prevented him from showing the regret he felt. He still used the language of reproof and conditional pardon; but the tutor was dismissed, and Gerard restored to liberty. Had his father been generous or just enough to show his regret, he might probably have obliterated the effects of his harshness; as it was, Gerard gave no thanks for a boon which saved his life, but restored him to none of its social blessings. He was still friendless--still orphaned in his affections--still the memory of intolerable tyranny, the recurrence of which was threatened if he made an ill use of the freedom accorded him, clung like the shirt of Nessus--and his noble, ardent nature was lacerated by the intolerable recollection of slavish terrors. "You saw him at Baden, and it was at Baden that I also first knew him. You had left the baths when my mother and I arrived. We became acquainted with Sir Boyvill. He was still handsome--he was rich--and those qualities of mind which ill agreed with Alithea's finer nature did not displease a fashionable woman of the world. Such was my mother. Something that was called an attachment sprang up, and they married. She preferred the situation of wife to that of widow; and he, having been accustomed to the social comforts of a domestic circle, despite his disasters, disliked his bachelor state. They married; and I, just then eighteen--just out, as it is called--became the sister of my beloved Gerard.