Hannah Yates read the letter—a sweet, touching epistle, full of mournful affection, which that murdered lady had written only a few days before her death, when some presentiment of coming evil was no doubt upon her. The diamonds were her mother's, she wrote, and had only crossed the ocean with her because of the haste with which the voyage to America had been arranged. Fearing for their safety, she was about to intrust them to her foster-mother, who had promised to bring them back to England with her own hands, if any evil should fall upon her, or if her sojourn in America was protracted.
"The jewels which belong to the Carset estate, and the child, which will inherit them, I entrust to my dear foster-mother, when I am gone, and I sometimes think that we may never meet again, my mother. This good woman will bring the diamonds, which I will not have endangered, and will tell you about the child, dearer to me than my own life, nay, than my own soul! Tell Lord Hope, if he should seek to take her, that it was the dying wish of his wife that her child should pass at once into the protection of her own most beloved mother, when Hannah Yates brings her to England. I think he will not deny this to a woman who has loved him better, oh! how much better! than herself—who would die, if she could, rather than be in the way of his happiness. Give him this letter. I think he will not deny the last request I may ever make of him. I will not say farewell, my mother, because the gloom that is upon me in this strange land may be only the homesickness of a heart separated from those it loves. But, if this is given to you by my foster-mother, know that a cloud of gloom has settled down upon me forever."
This much fell upon the ears of the countess as she held her breath and listened.
When Hannah Yates folded the letter, she felt that a gleam of angry fire broke into the eyes bent upon her.
"Yates," said the countess, sharply, "read the date of that letter."
The old servant read the date.
"Fourteen years and more! Why was that letter kept from me so long?"
"I could not bring it."
"I know you were not young even then, Yates; but your son, my own protege! Surely, when my poor child gave you this charge, she gave money also? Why was the child kept from me and sent to that man?"
"Yes, there was money; but my son could not come. We had no power to bring her."