The bride nodded and answered, “Yes, yes.” She wanted to say “What of it? And what have I to do with her now? She is dead and gone; and I am alive. Why cannot she leave me alone?”
“But it may be you do not know,” Dr. Thurston continued, “that she herself was aware of the nature of her disease? She learned the fatal truth two or three years before she died. She kept it a secret from her husband, and to him she was always cheerful and hopeful. But she made ready for death, not knowing when it might come, but feeling assured that it could not long delay its call. She was a brave woman and a devout Christian; and she could face the future fearlessly. Then, as ever, her first thought was for her husband, and she grieved at leaving him alone and lonely whom she had cared for so many years. If she were to die soon her husband would not be an old man, and perhaps he might take another wife. This suggestion was possibly repugnant to her at first; but in time she became reconciled to it.”
The bride was glad to hear this. Somehow this seemed a little to lighten the gloom which had been settling down upon her.
“Then it was that the late Mrs. Blackstock, dwelling upon her husband’s second marriage, decided to write a letter to you,” and as the minister said this he took an envelope from his coat pocket.
“To me?” cried the young wife, springing to her feet, as though in self-defense. Her first fear was that she was about to learn some dread mystery.
“To you,” Dr. Thurston answered calmly—“at least to the woman, whoever she might be, whom John Blackstock should take to wife.”
“Why—” began the bride, with a little hysteric laugh, “why, what could she possibly have to say to me?” And her heart was chilled within her.
“That I cannot tell you,” the minister answered; “she did not read the letter to me. She brought it to me one dark day the winter before last; and she besought me to take it and to say nothing about it to her husband; and to hand it myself to John Blackstock’s new wife whenever they should return from their wedding trip and settle down in this house.”
Then Dr. Thurston rose to his feet and tendered her the envelope.
“You want me to read that?” the bride asked, in a hard voice, fearful that the dead hand might be going to snatch at her young happiness.