Rosy inquired who had brought it up? As I had my upward hand on it, Amélie was answering that it was 'monsieur the concierge' who had brought it up that very moment, and had said that he was sorry to have overlooked it in the morning. A glance at the re-directed address had shown me that it was Rayne's handwriting. My heart went up to the bottom of my throat.
'Is it from Professor Strachan?' asked Rosy as Amélie was going out.
'No,' I said, striving to be full master of myself.
She refrained from further question, and I slowly opened the letter:
'Dear Bertram,—I should not have written to you, but that many things have come upon me. My little son is dead. God, in His great Love, saw fit to give him to me, as I thought, for my consoling; and He has seen fit, in His great Wisdom, to take him away from me again. God's ways are not as our ways.
'I do not say that my affliction is not hard, very hard to bear. At times I have doubted that I should ever see the good of it. I do not deny this. But I pray always for Faith in His Goodness, and Faith full and perfect, I am sure, will be given to me before the end. Yes, I am dying! Perhaps it is better so. And yet, I do not mean that. My head, you see, is not quite clear now. There is something I should like to say to you. Will you come to me? But yet do as you think you ought to, and remember, that any wish of mine is as nothing in comparison with your duty. I have written too much already. But you will understand. For my head is not clear now.
'My husband sends this. He has been very good to me. Remember about your duty. If I do not see you again, I ask God to bless and keep you and make you His at last, as I know He will.'
'Brave heart,' I said to myself, 'brave heart!'
My eyes stayed fixed on her name for a little: then I thought; till my thoughts turned to confusion. I half crumpled up the letter in my hands. Some one touched me on the arm. I had risen: was standing up, here, in the room. It was Rosy. I did not know she was here too.
I looked aside at her; her cheeks flushed red, a
