I refused to make any terms; but my mother, whose curiosity could refrain no longer, burst into the room; and to her Fowler did not plead in vain. Shocked as she was with the detection of this woman’s fraud, my mother was so eager to learn the secret concerning me, that she promised to obtain a pardon from Lady de Brantefield for the delinquent, if she would immediately communicate the secret. I left the room. I met my father with letters and newspapers in his hand. He looked in consternation, and beckoned to me to follow him into his own room. “I was just going in search of you, Harrington,” said he: “here’s a devil of a stroke for your mother’s friend, Lady de Brantefield.” “The loss of her jewels, do you mean, sir?” said I: “they are found.” “Jewels!” said my father; “I don’t know what you are talking of.” “I don’t know then what you mean, sir,” said I. “No, to be sure you do not, how could you? for the news is but this instant come--in this letter which I was carrying to you--which is addressed to you, as I found, when I got to the middle of it. I beg your pardon for opening it. Stay, stay--this is not the right letter.” My father seemed much hurried, and looked over his parcel of letters, while he went on, saying, “This is directed to William Harrington, instead of William Harrington Harrington. Never mind about that now, only I don’t like to open letters that don’t belong to me--here it is--run your eye over it as fast as you can, and tell me--for I stopped, as soon as I saw it was not to me--tell me how it is with Mowbray--I never liked the fellow, nor his mother either; but one can’t help pitying--and being shocked--shocked indeed I was, the moment I read the letter.”