It was ten o’clock when she reached the parsonage.  Branwell was there, unexpectedly, very ill.  He had come home a day or two before, apparently for a holiday; in reality, I imagine, because some discovery had been made which rendered his absence imperatively desirable.  The day of Charlotte’s return, he had received a letter from Mr. —–­, sternly dismissing him, intimating that his proceedings were discovered, characterising them as bad beyond expression, and charging him, on pain of exposure, to break off immediately, and for ever, all communication with every member of the family.

Whatever may have been the nature and depth of Branwell’s sins,—­whatever may have been his temptation, whatever his guilt,—­there is no doubt of the suffering which his conduct entailed upon his poor father and his innocent sisters.  The hopes and plans they had cherished long, and laboured hard to fulfil, were cruelly frustrated; henceforward their days were embittered and the natural rest of their nights destroyed by his paroxysms of remorse.  Let us read of the misery caused to his poor sisters in Charlotte’s own affecting words:—­

“We have had sad work with Branwell.  He thought of nothing but stunning or drowning his agony of mind.  No one in this house could have rest; and, at last, we have been obliged to send him from home for a week, with some one to look after him.  He has written to me this morning, expressing some sense of contrition . . . but as long as he remains at home, I scarce dare hope for peace in the house.  We must all, I fear, prepare for a season of distress and disquietude.  When I left you, I was strongly impressed with the feeling that I was going back to sorrow.”

   “August, 1845.

“Things here at home are much as usual; not very bright as it regards Branwell, though his health, and consequently his temper, have been somewhat better this last day or two, because he is now forced to abstain.”

   “August 18th, 1845.

“I have delayed writing, because I have no good news to communicate.  My hopes ebb low indeed about Branwell.  I sometimes fear he will never be fit for much.  The late blow to his prospects and feelings has quite made him reckless.  It is only absolute want of means that acts as any check to him.  One ought, indeed, to hope to the very last; and I try to do so, but occasionally hope in his case seems so fallacious.”

   “Nov. 4th, 1845.

“I hoped to be able to ask you to come to Haworth.  It almost seemed as if Branwell had a chance of getting employment, and I waited to know the result of his efforts in order to say, dear —–­, come and see us.  But the place (a secretaryship to a railway committee) is given to another person.  Branwell still remains at home; and while he is here, you shall not come.  I am more confirmed in that resolution the more I see of him.  I wish I could say one word to you in his favour, but I cannot.  I will hold my tongue.  We are all obliged to you for your kind suggestion about Leeds; but I think our school schemes are, for the present, at rest.”

   “Dec. 31st, 1845.