“I think so,” said Janet, sadly. “I am not mad now. I suffered then, but it has passed away, to leave me wiser and better, I hope. Do you think,” she added, somewhat bitterly, “that I shall be like the little one that cried for the moon?”
Harry was silent for a while, thinking, but he was interrupted by Janet’s whisper—
“Tell me—is he well?”
“Yes,” said Harry.
“And you have seen him?”
“Not for above a year.”
“But you have had news; tell me what it is.”
Harry was again thoughtful and silent. Should he tell her or no? The blow must come some day; had it not better fall upon her now, and be at an end?
“Do you fear to tell me?” she said again.
Harry’s answer was to draw Sir Francis Redgrave’s letter from his pocket, and place it in her hands.