It was a whim of Edith's not to write to Richard of her newly-
found relationship. She would rather tell it to him herself, she
said, and in her first letter, she merely mentioned the incidents
of her journey, saying she reached Sunnybank in safety, that Nina
was no better, that Mr. St. Claire was very kind, and Victor very
homesick, while she should enjoy herself quite well, were it not
that she knew he was so lonely without her. And this was the
letter for which Richard waited so anxiously, feeling when it came
almost as if he had not had any, and still exonerating his singing
bird from blame, by saying that she could not write lovingly to
him so long us she knew that Mrs. Matson must be the interpreter
between them.
It was an odd-looking missive which he sent back and Edith's heart
ached to its very core as she saw the uneven handwriting, which
went up and down, the lines running into and over each other, now
diagonally, now at right angles, and again darting off in an
opposite direction as he held his pencil a moment in his fingers
and then began again.
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