Since I wrote last I have had several letters from you, one or two since I returned to England, but there was nothing in them calling for an immediate reply. I do not wish you to answer this, or to write to me again at any time. After so much travelling about I feel disinclined to settle down in London, or even in England at present, and have made up my mind to re-let the house in Dawson Place--that is, if the present tenants should have any wish to give it up. My brother and I separated some time ago, and he has gone, or is going, to India, and will be away two or three years, as, I believe, he also intends visiting Australia, China, and America. I am therefore quite alone now, and shall probably go over to France for a few months, perhaps to remain permanently abroad. But so far as you are concerned, it does not matter in the least whether I go or stay, since I cannot take you back to live with me, or have anything more to do with you. The clothes you have will, I dare say, last you some time longer, and I have instructed my agent in London to send you a small sum of money (£25) to start you with. You must in future take care of yourself, and I suppose that with all the knowledge you have acquired from Miss Churton, you will be able to get a situation of some kind. You have until the middle of next May--I forget the exact date--to prepare for your new life; and you can mention to Mrs. Churton that my agent will send her the money for the last quarter before your time at Eyethorne expires. I suppose you do not require to be told the reason of the determination I have come to. You cannot have forgotten the fair warning I gave you when we parted, and you must know, Fan, if you know me at all, that when I say a thing I distinctly mean it. You must take this as my very last word to you. MARY STARBROW. “Oh, what a cruel thing to do! What a heartless letter! What a barbarous woman!” cried Constance, tears of keenest distress starting to her eyes, as she hastened to Fan's side, holding out her hands. But Fan would not be caressed; she started as if stung to her feet, her kindling eyes and flushed cheeks showing that her grief and despondence had all at once been swallowed up in some other feeling. “Give me the letter back,” she demanded, holding out her hand for it, and then, when the other hesitated, astonished at her changed manner, snatched it from her hand, and began carefully smoothing and refolding it, for Constance had crumpled it up in her indignation. “Fan, what has come over you? Are you going to quarrel with me because that unfeeling, purse-proud, half-mad woman has treated you so badly? Ah, poor Fan, to have been at the mercy of such a creature! I would tear her bank-notes into shreds and send them back to her agent--” “Leave me!” screamed Fan at her, stamping on the floor in her rage.