She was beginning to be afraid of him, and half wished Richard was
there. Remembering his letter at last, she gave it to him,
explaining how she came by it, and marvelling at the sudden
whiteness of his face.
"I will wait till she is gone," he thought, as he recognized Dr.
Griswold's writing, and knew well what it was about. "I won't let
anything mar the bliss of the next two hours," and he laid it upon
the table.
"Ain't you going to read it?" asked Edith, as earnestly as if she
knew the contents of that letter would save her from much future
pain. "Read it," she persisted, declaring, with pretty willfulness
that she would not touch a pencil until he complied with her
request.
"I suppose I must yield then," he said, withdrawing into the
adjoining room, where he broke the seal and read--once--twice--
three times--lingering longest over the sentences which we
subjoin.
* * * "To-day, for the first time since you were here, our poor
little girl spoke of you of her own accord, asking where you were
and why you left her so long alone.
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