So saying, Mrs. Anglesea opened the letter, and being a frank soul, spelled it out aloud:
“Washington, February 12, 1882.
“My Dear Mrs. Anglesea: I received your letter, and hasten to reply. I should have preferred to give you my serious news in person, but since you insist on it, I give it you now in writing. Under all the circumstances, I need not fear even to give you a shock, when I tell you that Col. Angus Anglesea died at——”
“Good Lord! then the man is dead, sure enough!” exclaimed the widow, breaking off from her readings and looking up at her companion.
“Lord ’a’ mercy! So he is! But read on! Don’t stop! Let’s hear all about it!” exclaimed Miss Sibby.
“Oh, I can’t! I can’t! It seems so strange! He was so strong and healthy I thought he’d live forever almost! I thought he’d outlive me, anyways. And now he’s dead! It don’t seem possible, you know,” said the widow, with a total change of manner.
“Why, Lord! I thought you suspicioned as it was your husband’s death as Mrs. Force was a-keeping from you.”
“No, I didn’t. It was all my nonsense. I hadn’t a notion as he could die, and he the perfect pictor of life and health. And to be cut off in his prime!”
“Why, woman, you seem like you was sorry for the man as robbed and deserted you!”
“Don’t speak of that now, Miss Sibby. It’s mean to speak ill of the dead, who can’t answer you back again!” said the widow.