We are undone! all is discovered! your letters are gone! they were there last night, and could have been taken away but to day. ’Tis my mother: it can be no body else. If my father should see them, my life is in danger. But why should he not see them, if I must renounce---- Heavens! my mother sends for me, whither shall I fly? how shall I support her presence? O that I could hide myself in the centre of the earth! I tremble every limb, and am unable to move one step----the shame, the mortification, the killing reproaches----I have deserved it, I will support it all. But oh! the grief, the tears of a weeping mother----O, my heart, how piercing!----she waits for me; I can stay no longer----she will know----I must tell her all----Regianino will be dismissed. Write no more till you hear further----who knows if ever----yet I might----what? deceive her?----deceive my mother!----alas! if our safety lies in supporting a falsehood, farewell, we are indeed undone! Letter XCIV. From Mrs. Orbe. O how you afflict all those who love you! what tears have already been shed on your account, in an unfortunate family, whose tranquillity has been disturbed by you alone! Fear to add to these tears by covering us with mourning: tremble lest the death of an afflicted parent should be the last effect of the poison you have poured into the heart of her child, and that your extravagant passion will at length fill you with eternal remorse. My friendship made me support your folly, while it was capable of being nourished by the shadow of hope; but how can it allow a vain constancy condemned by honour and reason, and which producing nothing but pain and misfortune can only deserve the name of obstinacy? You know in what manner the secret of your passion, so long concealed from the suspicions of my aunt, has been discovered by your letters. How sensibly must such a stroke be felt by a tender and virtuous mother, less irritated against you, than against herself! she blames her blind negligence, she deplores her fatal delusion, her deepest affliction arises from her having had too high an esteem for her daughter, and her grief has filled Eloisa with a hundred times more sorrow than all her reproaches.