"
The young man was running fast; his face was red, his eyes anxious.
"Have you got it? Is it here?" he cried, panting, and as she lifted
the bundle high, his face cleared and Caroline saw that he was very
handsome.
"Oh, Mrs. Ufford," he gasped, "read this! Just read it! I found it
in my pocket-book--I thought you might be gone--she put it there for
me--my poor little Lou! My God, what a brute--what a brute!"
The woman, one foot still on the step of the brougham, supported the
child on her raised knee and held the paper in her free hand.
"_My dearest husband_," she read aloud, "_if I get well you will
never see this, for I will take it out, but I don't believe I will
take it out, for I don't believe I will get well. They say everybody
thinks they will die, and of course a great many don't, but some do,
and I think I will, I don't know why, but I am sure. But you will
have the little girl. I am sure she will be a girl, and I hope she
will look like me and be a comfort to you. You will take good care
of her, I know. Think how nicely you took care of me and how hard
you worked. You take her to my sister, and when she gets big enough,
then you take her. She will not be a burden for you will earn lots
of money when you can stop working in that horrid store on my
account, and have time to do your writing.
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