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Chapter 7

On my return, I found the following letter from my father:-

"My dear Victor,

"You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the

date of your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write

only a few lines, merely mentioning the day on which I should

expect you. But that would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do

it. What would be your surprise, my son, when you expected a

happy and glad welcome, to behold, on the contrary, tears and

wretchedness? And how, Victor, can I relate our misfortune?

Absence cannot have rendered you callous to our joys and griefs;

and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent son? I wish to

prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it is impossible;

even now your eye skims over the page to seek the words which are

to convey to you the horrible tidings.

"William is dead!-that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and

warmed my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay! Victor, he is

murdered!