"Trouble?"
"Yes; listen. I will read the letter:"
"'My dear cousin Sarah,—It is so long since I heard anything about you, that I am not at all sure of this reaching you, for I do not even know whether you are yet living. I never have letters from England now, since Ralph Burgess and his sister went to America, three years ago.'"
("This is the first we have heard of this," quoth John, in a parenthesis; and then he resumed reading):
"'For I never hear from home.'"
("Which is a great pity—" in another parenthesis).
"'Hoping, however, that you still live and are happy, I take up my pen to do what ought to have done long and long ago.'"
"'Dear Sarah, I write first of all humbly to ask you to forgive me all the wrong I did you so many years ago. You knew partly how it was, but not all that was said. But I don't blame anybody so much as myself. I used you cruelly, shamefully, Sarah; and now I am made to feel it, now my great trouble is on me. And I ask you again for your forgiveness. Not but what it has been better for you, I make no doubt; for I know you got a good—'"
("I think I had better not read the next line or two, my dear," said John, looking up from the letter; so he skipped that part, and went on again).
"'And I have to ask Mr. Tincroft's pardon too, which I ought to have done long ago, for the way I treated him. He didn't deserve it; but I was blinded with obstinacy and jealousy, and didn't know what I did. And I know now, and have long known—'"
("Well, never mind that part; it is only a little that he may have heard, somehow or other, about me, my dear," said John, once more looking up. All this time Sarah had silently listened; but now she sobbed quickly, "If it is anything good he writes about you, John, it can't be too strong; for you have always been a good, kind husband, I know." "As far as I have known how, I have tried to be," said John, softly; "but I would rather leave that out," and he then proceeded):