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68 throwing it on the patient's face, Sir Ambrose opened his eyes: for some moments he stared wildly around him, but, as soon as he began to recollect what had passed, he implored Father Morris to give him his ardently desired letter.

"You are not yet equal to reading it," said Father Morris compassionately; "I fear the exertion will be too much for you." "Oh give it me! give it me," exclaimed the poor old man; "if a spark of mercy remain in your soul, do not keep me in this agony!" It was impossible to resist the tone of real anguish that accompanied these words, as Father Morris put the letter into his hands.—Sir Ambrose took it eagerly; though he trembled so, that he could scarcely break the seal. At last, he tore it open and gazed at its contents, but he could not read a word; he dashed away his tears, and rubbed his eyes impatiently—all was in vain—the writing was still illegible—"Read! read!" cried he, in a voice trembling with agitation, "For Heaven's sake, read!—will no one have pity on me?" Father Morris took the letter, and read it