“Why?” I hear you ask. “Have you discovered that your first impressions are wrong, and, having done an injustice to an unfortunate man, are you anxious to atone for it?” Not a bit of it! I am more than ever confirmed in my prejudices with regard to Richard Manx. I shall watch his movements, and no longer avoid him—not for his sake—for yours, for mine! An enigma, you say. Very well. Wait!
I am tired; my fingers are cramped, and my head aches a little; I must get two or three hours’ rest, or I shall be fit for nothing to-morrow.
Good night, dear love. Heaven shield you and guard you, and help you.
Yours, in good and bad fortune, with steadfast love,
Becky.
