“An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. For some days we shall be very idle there among the trees and rocks. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. ‘The place was full of barbers and military men. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason.
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