And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. " "It is too late," returned Jack, sullenly; "I can't be honest if I would. "Come with me to the Castle. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. Loneliness. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. He deserves none.
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