’Dear Father,—I take my pen in hand, hopping this finds you has it leafs me, with a bad running at the noaz, and a shockin corf, gripes orful in my innerds, and hakes all over me. I dersay you’ve eard what I gone and done, don’t judge me harshly, I couldn’t do otherwise, and I’m not so bad to blame as you may suppose. I didn’t intend delibberat to do ’t, but I did it off-hand so to speke. Wot’s dun can’t be undun. It’s no use crying over spilt milk. Wot can’t be kured must be undured. That’s wot Mrs. Veale would say, and her’s a bad un. I ketched a cold with getting wet running away, but I shall be all rite soon, please God when I’m away on the i seez. I’m goin to Ameri’kay which is the place to which the flour of the British aristokracy go when its ockerd or embarassing at ome. As it is ockerd and embarassing to me, I’m orf, and I hope with the Almighty’s aid to do well in the new whirld, wheer I intend to found a new Coom Park, to which I shall invite you all to come, when I can drive you about in a carridge and pare. I want to know how it is with Larry, whether he be alive or dead. I came away in such aste I couldn’t stay to know, but I’m very desiring to know. Don’t rite to me by my proper name, there may be disagreeables in my wereabout being knone, so direct to Mr. Charles, poast resteny, Plymouth.—From your loving sun, ’CHARLES LUXMORE.’ of Coom Park, Esquire. P.S.—Doan’t say nothink to nobody of were I be, wotever you do, and kiss the kids for me. Poast anser at Tavistock or Lanson. Oliver Luxmore refolded the letter, and put it away in his pocket without a word. Neither Honor nor Kate spoke or looked at each other. It was too clear to all that Charles was guilty. The last doubt of his guilt disappeared. Oliver went about the horse and van. Honor did not fail to observe the change effected in him by one night. He seemed older by ten years—to have tumbled down the decline of life, and been shaken by the fall. His clothes did not appear to fit him, his walk was unsteady, his hand shook, his eye wandered, his hair had a greyer tinge, and was lank and moist. Joe ran to help in the harnessing of the horse. His father was trying to force on the collar without turning it. He put on the saddle wrong, and fastened the wrong buckles. The boy corrected his father’s errors. Then the man brought the van into the lane, and stood with his hand to his forehead.