“I shall never forgive myself,” he wrote. “I was a brute and a fool, and don’t deserve the happiness of having _my_ poor wife at home with me. Would to God, dear Mr. Arthur, that any prayers of mine and Honor’s could bring back _yours_; but it was God’s will that she should be taken, poor young lady; but I don’t understand how you can make things better by leaving your little one as well. I hope you will excuse my advising you; but I loved your father well, dear Mr. Arthur, as you know; and it grieves me to think that his son is going into banishment like for my fault. Surely the old gentleman would be best pleased for you to stay at home; and besides, from all that I can hear, America is not the best place for a young gentleman to live in. The young ladies, too, at the Castle would find it hard to lose you; and I should be always remembering, seeing your empty place at church, that it was me that was the cause you went. No, no, dear Mr. Arthur, you will think better of it still, I hope; and we shall see you riding with the young ladies about the Chace this summer, not exactly as if nothing had happened--for that could not be, even if it was right--but as your late lamented father would approve of, and as your ancestors did before you. I hope that you will be so good as excuse my boldness, and will believe me, with respect and affection, “Your obedient servant, “JOHN BEACHAM.” “P.S. There is one of the beautifullest foals ever dropped, out of Mad Flora by the Old Shekarry, in the five-bar paddock. I should like you to see her, so I should. You’d say you never saw a neater nor a cleaner made one. The stock is good, and no mistake.”