Well, here I am once more with my good friends. I reached home without meeting with any disagreeable occurrence, and my tutor received me with his usual kindness, but I observed a gloom on his countenance which made me very uneasy. Before he went to bed, he began to write a letter, and was visibly agitated while he was writing. As I know the Doctor has such firmness of mind that a trifle would not affect him, I was very desirous to know what was the matter, and I think my curiosity arose from affection, yet I am afraid it has led me to act wrong, for when he left the room for a moment, I crept softly to his writing table to read the unfinished letter. It was to a brother who had sustained some heavy loss in trade, which involved him and a large family in the greatest distress. I suddenly threw down the letter, before I had read half of it, as if I had been committing a robbery, and severely reproached myself for having pryed into his secret, though I think I was led to it by the restless anxiety I felt when I saw him unhappy; but this does not excuse me—I have been very much to blame—I blush for shame—I have injured my friend, and I have injured myself; I shall be afraid to look him in the face; what a coward does guilt make us! I can write no more, I am out of humour with myself. CHARLES. LETTER XV. CHARLES _to_ WILLIAM. Pity me, my friend; Dr. Bartlett has just received a letter from Grandison Hall; he instantly informed me, with seeming emotion, that there was not the least danger, but that my mother was ill, and that if I pleased, we would set off in the morning. Do you say, my dear Sir, if I please; my heart is there already; my mother in danger, and her son so far off! I never was so low spirited in my life; I am sure the Doctor softens the matter to me. I received a few lines from Emilia, delivered privately to me by the servant, which made me very uneasy; I will transcribe part of it. “Dear, dear Charles,