Sir Gilbert, full of his own
troubles, scarcely ever entered the apartment of his son.
Towards evening a servant came softly into the sick-room, bringing
a sealed letter for her lady. There was no post-mark upon it, and
the girl informed her mistress that the gentleman who had brought
it was waiting in the garden for a reply. The first glance at the
hand-writing, at the well-known seal, brought colour to the cheek of
the lady. But it was a hand-writing which she had been forbidden to
read; it was a seal which she must not break! She motioned to the maid
to take her place beside the invalid who happened at that moment to be
sleeping and with a quick step and a throbbing heart she hurried away
to find her husband.
He was in his study, his arms resting on his open desk, and his head
bowed down upon them. Bills and papers, scattered in profusion on the
table, showed what had been the nature of the occupation which he had
not had the courage to finish. He started from his posture of despair
as his wife laid a gentle touch on his shoulder; and, without uttering
a word, she placed the unopened letter in his hand.
My reader shall have the privilege of looking over Sir Gilbert's
shoulder, and perusing the contents of that letter:--
"Dearest Sister,--We have heard of your trials, and warmly
sympathize in your sorrow.
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