Time was doing much for me; every hour was golden in its acquisition of blanks in my life were filled by books. God sent every one the same comfort I had.
[Transcriber's note: One or more lines appear to be missing from the previous paragraph.]
CHAPTER XIV.
It was just three years since I had left Crown Anstey. Lord Winter told me I should have some weeks to myself, but he was so incessantly occupied I never liked to ask for them.
I had never seen or heard anything of Crown Anstey since I left it. At Harden Manor all was the same, unchanged and unaltered.
One morning, when I went into the library, a letter lay waiting for me. I saw that it was Coralie's handwriting, and my first impulse was to burn it unread. Why should she write to me again? Her letters only pained me. I threw it aside and began to work—in the busy occupation of the morning I forgot all about it.
I did not open it until evening. It was from Coralie, but it only held these few words:
"Edgar—My boy—my beautiful boy—is dying. Come to me; for if I lose him I shall die, too. In my distress I would rather have you near me than any one else.