"
"On my sacred honour," said I, reaching out still.
He looked it all over again provokingly, and then lifted it to his
nose, for it had a delicate perfume. Then he gave a little grunt of
wonder and pleasure, and handed it over.
I broke the seal, and my eyes ran swiftly through the lines, traced
in a firm, delicate hand. I could see through it all the fine, sound
nature, by its healthy simplicity mastering anxiety, care, and fear.
"Robert," she wrote, "by God's help my brother will live, to repent
with you, I trust, of Friday night's ill work. He was near gone, yet
we have held him back from that rough-rider, Death.
"You will thank God, will you not, that my brother did not die?
Indeed, I feel you have. I do not blame you; I know--I need not tell
you how--the heart of the affair; and even my mother can see through
the wretched thing. My father says little, and he has not spoken
harshly; for which I gave thanksgiving this morning in the chapel
of the Ursulines. Yet you are in a dungeon, covered with wounds of
my brother's making, both of you victims of others' villainy, and
you are yet to bear worse things, for they are to try you for your
life.
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