My anxiety was relieved by my writing letters to my father, addressed to the care of Miss Julia Rippenger, and posting them in her work-basket.

She favoured me with very funny replies, signed, 'Your own ever-loving Papa,' about his being engaged killing Bengal tigers and capturing white elephants, a noble occupation that gave me exciting and consolatory dreams of him.
We had at last a real letter of his, dated from a foreign city; but he mentioned nothing of coming to me.

I understood that Mr.Rippenger was disappointed with it.
Gradually a kind of cloud stole over me.

I no longer liked to ask for pocket-money; I was clad in a suit of plain cloth; I was banished from the parlour, and only on Sunday was I permitted to go to Julia.

I ceased to live in myself.