When she
entered the parlor where her solitary breakfast was waiting for her, she
was surprised to see a letter lying on the table. She approached to
take it up with an expression of impatience, thinking it might be some
tradesman's bill which she had forgotten.
It was the forged letter from Zurich.
CHAPTER XI.
THE postmark and the handwriting on the address (admirably imitated from
the original) warned Mrs. Lecount of the contents of the letter before
she opened it.
After waiting a moment to compose herself, she read the announcement of
her brother's relapse.
There was nothing in the handwriting, there was no expression in
any part of the letter which could suggest to her mind the faintest
suspicion of foul play. Not the shadow of a doubt occurred to her that
the summons to her brother's bedside was genuine. The hand that held
the letter dropped heavily into her lap; she became pale, and old, and
haggard in a moment. Thoughts, far removed from her present aims and
interests; remembrances that carried her back to other lands than
England, to other times than the time of her life in service, prolonged
their inner shadows to the surface, and showed the traces of their
mysterious passage darkly on her face.
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