“I will read it to you.”
“Bless you, my dear; bless you!”
In her unfeigned eagerness she never noticed the suppressed eagerness with which the hand was slowly put out to take the letter. She did not see the tremor with which the fingers closed on it.
“Come, then, read it to me, prithee. I am wearying for it.”
“The first words are, 'To my honoured parents.'”
“Ay! and he always did honour us, poor soul.”
“'God and the saints have you in His holy keeping, and bless you by night and by day. Your one harsh deed is forgotten; your years of love remembered.'”
Catherine laid her hand on her bosom, and sank back in her chair with one long sob.
“Then comes this, madam. It doth speak for itself; 'a long farewell.'”
“Ay, go on; bless you, girl you give me sorry comfort. Still 'tis comfort.”