The door of the chaise was opened: Charlotte was not there.

"Where is my child ?" cried Mrs.Temple, in breathless agitation.
Mr.Eldridge could not answer: he took hold of his daughter's hand and led her into the house; and sinking on the first chair he came to, burst into tears, and sobbed aloud.
"She is dead," cried Mrs.Temple.

"Oh my dear Charlotte!" and clasping her hands in an agony of distress, fell into strong hysterics.
Mr.Temple, who had stood speechless with surprize and fear, now ventured to enquire if indeed his Charlotte was no more.

Mr.Eldridge led him into another apartment; and putting the fatal note into his hand, cried--"Bear it like a Christian," and turned from him, endeavouring to suppress his own too visible emotions.
It would be vain to attempt describing what Mr.Temple felt whilst he hastily ran over the dreadful lines: when he had finished, the paper dropt from his unnerved hand.

"Gracious heaven!" said he, "could Charlotte act thus ?" Neither tear nor sigh escaped him; and he sat the image of mute sorrow, till roused from his stupor by the repeated shrieks of Mrs.Temple.He rose hastily, and rushing into the apartment where she was, folded his arms about her, and saying--"Let us be patient, my dear Lucy," nature relieved his almost bursting heart by a friendly gush of tears.
Should any one, presuming on his own philosophic temper, look with an eye of contempt on the man who could indulge a woman's weakness, let him remember that man was a father, and he will then pity the misery which wrung those drops from a noble, generous heart.
Mrs.Temple beginning to be a little more composed, but still imagining her child was dead, her husband, gently taking her hand, cried--"You are mistaken, my love.