To allay, so far as might be, these disordered terrors, they assumed the utmost frankness in all intercourse with him, and even took pains to exhibit an undisguised freedom on every occasion.
The letters which arrived by each morning's post were always opened in his presence, and his prying, eager glances showed that the precaution was not unneeded.
“What is that?” cried he, suddenly, as Kate, after reading the address of a letter, hastily threw it on the table, and covered it with others. “Let me see that, Kate. Who is it for?”
“It bears your name,” said she, anxiously, “and has an Irish postmark; but the hand is not known to me.”
The youth took the letter in his hand, and sat gazing on it for some minutes together.
“No,” said he, at length, “I do not remember to have seen the writing before. Read it, Kate.”
She broke the seal, and at once exclaimed, “It is from Dr. Grounsell, Frank,—a very dear and kind friend.”
She ran her eyes rapidly over the lines as she spoke, and twice her color came and went, and her hand trembled as it held the paper.
“You have bad news for me?” said the boy, with a slow, but firm utterance; “but so that it be not of Nelly, I can bear anything!”
“It is not of Nelly,” said Kate, in a tremulous voice.