“Yours truly,

“Malvina Almont.”

Miss Simmonds continued,—­

“You may be able to imagine, but I cannot describe the effect produced upon my mind by the perusal of this letter.  I felt stupefied and bewildered.  How I reached my home I could never tell.  I entered the house just as my father and mother were sitting down to their noon-day meal.  As soon as my mother caught sight of me she enquired of me what was the matter?  I suppose the agony of my mind was depicted upon my countenance.  Without a word, I placed the letter in her hand, which, after perusing, she handed to my father.  The natural temper of my father was rash and impulsive, and the contents of that letter exasperated him beyond control.  He used many bitter words, and threatened dire vengeance upon young Almont, should he ever again enter our dwelling.  My mother begged of him to desist, saying that if he were indeed guilty, as the letter proved him to be, his sin would certainly bring its own punishment.  When we had succeeded in quieting the anger of my father, we were able to converse upon the matter in a calm and rational manner.  We finally decided that my father should read the letter to Mr. Almont upon his return, and see what effect it would produce upon him.  Three days later he came.  He entered our dwelling and accosted us with his usual bland and smiling manner.  In a short time, my father turned and said,—­’During your absence, Mr. Almont, my daughter has received a most unaccountable letter which I wish to read to you, hoping you may be able to explain it.’  The paleness which overspread his countenance on hearing my father’s words put to flight the hope I had cherished that he would be able to prove the letter a falsehood.  Without any further remark, my father read the letter to him, word for word.  As he concluded he said,—­’And now, Mr. Almont, unless you are prepared to prove the information contained in this letter to be untrue, I wish you immediately to leave my dwelling, and, if you take my advice, you will also leave this village, for I cannot abide the sight of a wretch such as this letter proves you to be, and your silence be as testimony to its truth.  Begone!  I say, from the humble, but, heretofore, happy home, which your baseness has darkened by sorrow.’  As my father uttered these words, he stamped with his foot, and pointed to the door.  Without a word, Mr. Almont left the house, and on the day following, we learned that he had left Littleton, and gone no one knew whither.  Many surmises arose concerning his sudden departure, for it was well known that we were engaged to be married, but no one had any knowledge of the facts of the matter.  When the wonder had subsided, which any unusual event occasions in a small village, the subject was suffered to rest.  I felt stricken as by a sudden blow.  I felt no interest in life, but I endeavored, when in the presence of my parents, to assume a cheerfulness which was far from being the real state of my mind.