Ah! now
you're frowning again, and it's nearly time for me to go, and I
haven't had a chance to mention what I came for, which, of course,
is all your fault, Barnabas. To-day, I received a letter from Ronald.
He writes that he has been ill, but is better. And yet, I fear, he
must be very weak still, for oh! it's such poor, shaky writing. Was
he very ill when you saw him?"
"No," answered Barnabas.
"Here is the letter,--will you read it? You see, I have no one who
will talk to me about poor Ronald, no one seems to have any pity for
him,--not even my dear Tyrant."
"But you will always have me, Cleone!"
"Always, Barnabas?"
"Always."
So Barnabas took Ronald Barrymaine's letter, and opening it, saw
that it was indeed scrawled in characters so shaky as to be
sometimes almost illegible; but, holding it in the full light of the
moon, he read as follows:
DEAREST OF SISTERS,--I was unable to keep the appointment
I begged for in my last, owing to a sudden indisposition,
and, though better now, I am still ailing. I fear my many
misfortunes are rapidly undermining my health, and
sometimes I sigh for Death and Oblivion.
Pages:
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461