My father had come home foaming with rage; my mother had done all she could to appease him, and to make him comprehend that above half what he had heard was false; but it had gone the wrong way into his head, and there was no getting it out again. My father had heard it at the most unlucky time possible, just after he had lost a good place, and was driven to the necessity of selling an estate that had been in his family since the time of Richard the Second. My mother farther informed me, that my father had given orders, in his usual sudden way when angry, for going into the country immediately. While she was yet speaking, the door opened, and my father, with his nightcap on, put his head in, saying, “Remember, ma’am, you are to be off at seven to-morrow--and you sir,” continued he, advancing towards me, “if you have one grain of sense left, I recommend it to you to come with us. But no, I see it written in your absurd face, that you will not--obstinate madman! I leave you to your own discretion,” cried he, turning his back upon me; “but, by Jupiter Ammon, I’ll do what I say, by Jupiter!” And carrying my mother off with him, he left me to my pleasing reflections. All was tumult in my mind: one moment I stood motionless in utter despair, the next struck with some bright hope. I walked up and down the room with hasty strides--then stopped short again, and stood fixed, as some dark reality, some sense of improbability--of impossibility, crossed my mind, and as my father’s denunciation recurred to my ear.