From this violent declaration of an unforgiving heart, Lodore turned to Elizabeth's letter. This excellent lady, to whom the names of dissipation and the metropolis were synonymous, and who knew as much of the world as Parson Adams, assured her brother, that Cornelia, far from feeling deeply the blow of her mother's death, was pursuing her giddy course with greater pertinacity than ever. Surrounded by flatterers, given up to pleasure, she naturally shrunk from being reminded of her exiled husband and her forgotten child. Her letter showed how ill she deserved the tenderness and interest which Lodore had expressed. She was a second Lady Santerre, without being gifted with that maternal affection, which had in some degree dignified that person's character. Elizabeth lamented that his wife's hardness of heart might prevent his proposed visit to England. She did not like to urge it--it might seem selfish: hitherto she had let herself and her sorrows go for nothing; could she think of her own gratification, while her brother was suffering so much calamity? She was growing old--indeed she was old--she had no kin around her--early friends were dead or lost to her--she had nothing to live on but the recollection of her brother; she should think herself blest could she see him once more before she died. "O my dear brother Henry," continued the kind-hearted lady, "if you would but say the word--the sea is nothing; people older than I--and I am not at all infirm--make the voyage. Let me come to America--let me embrace my niece, and see you once again--let me share your dear home in the Illinois, which I see every night in my dreams. I should grieve to be a burthen to you, but it would be my endeavour to prove a comfort and a help." Lodore read both of these letters, one after the other, again and again. He resolved on going to England immediately. Either Cornelia was entirely callous and worthless, and so to be discarded from his heart for ever, or after her first bitter feelings on her mother's death were over, she would soften towards her child, or there was some dread secret feeling that influenced her, and he must save her from calamity and wretchedness. One of those changes of feeling to which the character of Lodore was peculiarly subject, came over him. Lady Santerre was dead--Cornelia was alone. A thousand dangers surrounded her. It appeared to him that his first imperious duty was to offer himself to guard and watch over her. He resolved to leave nothing untried to make her happy. He would give up Ethel to her--he would gratify every wish she could frame--pour out benefits lavishly before her--force her to see in him a benefactor and a friend; and at last, his heart whispered, induce her to assume again the duties of a wife. CHAPTER XVI What is peace? When life is over, And love ceases to rebel, Let the last faint sigh discover, Which precedes the passing knell. WORDSWORTH.