But how, in reality, had Mr. Wharton supported the tremendous blow inflicted upon him?

On his return home to dress for dinner, an air of consternation visible amongst the domestics instantly caught his notice. He asked no questions till he reached his own room, and was attended by Larue:

‘Has any thing unusual happened this morning?’ said he.

‘I know nothing with any certainty, Monsieur. Mademoiselle de Vere before she went / out, desired me to give you this packet as soon as you returned. Perhaps that may explain every thing.’

He put Agnes' letter into his master's hand, and quitted the room.

Mr. Wharton bolted himself in. He had not a nerve that did not quiver with fear; his face was livid; his eye-sight was confused; – some horrible revelation was about to be made to him; and, loaded as was his conscience, he knew not that anything was too awful to expect. All, – all was at stake – character – personal freedom; the means of existence, all and each were in peril. – If this girl had betrayed him, – if she had sought other protection, what remained for him but flight, or – death! –

Becoming gradually somewhat calmer, and reflecting how little foundation he yet had for his fearful anticipations, he steadied his hand sufficiently to break the letter open.

It was in these terms: /

‘When you read this, I shall have left your house, I trust, for ever. My motive for doing so may be explained in two words: it is, that I may free myself from the necessity of longer performing a part which my whole soul has learnt, though late, to abhor.