"SUSAN."
"P.S. Did Dr. Duncan tell you that I have married my cousin? Sha'n't I make a capital wife?"
The cutting from the newspaper which was enclosed in the letter was an announcement of her father's death.
Mary read the letter slowly, and each line seemed a separate sting, as doubtlessly it was intended to be. Little as she loved her father, she was shocked to hear that he was dead. She had intended to go to him as soon as she was married, and implore his forgiveness. She had looked forward to the reconciliation with him, for all her hate had died away long since. She was troubled, too, by the vague threats the letter contained, couched though they were in terms of affectionate solicitude. She felt a great terror when she read the underlined promise of the woman who hated her, to stand as fairy god-mother to her child. She could not shake away the fear that the shadow, far away though it was now, would once again rise up from the horizon to cloud her happiness; but she stifled these fancies with a great effort, and said, "Oh, Harry! my poor father is dead."
There were no exaggerated protestations of sympathy where little grief was felt, but the event cast a chill over the party.
This letter had come at so inopportune a moment, that it could not but raise forebodings. Even the doctor felt a vague dread, and Mrs. White was quite upset by what she considered a very bad omen indeed.
No one had spoken for some time, Mary had been holding the letter in her hand thinking; at last she said, "Harry, I cannot tell whether I ought to show you this letter. Will you be angry if I don't. There is something about the secret in it."
"Mary, darling, unless there is something in it you want to preserve, I should put that letter in the fire. Observe your oath, and don't worry yourself about showing me everything as if I was suspicious of you. You know I am not that."
"Thank you, dear; I will burn it then."