“Miss Ercildoune met me with not quite her usual grace and ease.  She was, no doubt, surprised at my unexpected appearance, and—­I then thought, as a consequence—­slightly embarrassed.  I soon afterwards discovered the constraint in her manner sprang from another cause.

“I had reached the house just at lunch-time, and she would take me out to the table to eat something with her.  I had hoped to see her father, and was disappointed when she informed me he was in the city.  All I saw charmed me.  The appointments of the table were like those of the house:  everything exquisitely fine, and the silver massive and old,—­not a new piece among it,—­and marked with a monogram and crest.

“I write you all this that you may the more thoroughly appreciate my absolute horror at the final denouement, and share my astonishment at the presumption of these people in daring to maintain such style.

“I had given her Willie’s letter before we left the parlor, with a significant word and smile, and was piqued to see that she did not blush,—­in fact, became excessively white as she glanced at the writing, and with an unsteady hand put it into her pocket.  After lunch she made no motion to look at it, and as I had my own reasons for desiring her to peruse it, I said, ’Miss Francesca, will you not read your letter? that I may know if there is any later news from our soldier.’

“She hesitated a moment, and then said, with what I thought an unnatural manner, ‘Certainly, if you so desire,’ and, taking it out, broke the seal.  ‘Allow me,’ she added, going towards a window,—­as though she desired more light, but in reality, I knew, to turn her back upon me,—­forgetting that a mirror, hanging opposite, would reveal her face with distinctness to my gaze.

“It was pale to ghastliness, with a drawn, haggard look about the mouth and eyes that shocked as much as it amazed me; and before commencing to read she crushed the letter in her hands, pressing it to her heart with a gesture which was less of a caress than of a spasm.

“However, as she read, all this changed; and before she finished said, ‘Ah, Willie, it is clear your cause needs no advocate.’  Positively, I did not know a human countenance could express such happiness; there was something in it absolutely dazzling.  And evidently entirely forgetful of me, she raised the paper to her mouth, and kissed it again and again, pressing her lips upon it with such clinging and passionate fondness as would have imbued it with life were that possible.”

Here Willie flung down his aunt’s epistle and tore from his pocket this self-same letter.  He had kept it,—­carried it about with him,—­for two reasons:  because it was hers, he said,—­this avowal of his love was hers, whether she refused it or no, and he had no right to destroy her property; and because, as he had nothing else she had worn or touched, he cherished this sacredly since it had been in her dear hands.