Having thus opened one extremity of the bag, she inserted her delicate fingers, and produced a sheet of letter-paper, folded, and dingy with age.
Handing it to the rector, she observed, with tears streaming down her cheeks, "These were the last words my mother ever wrote; and she had lost the use of her speech ere she penned them."
Reginald Tracy unfolded the letter, and read as follows:——
"Should my own gloomy presages prove true, and the warning of my medical attendant be well founded,—if, in a word, the hand of Death be already extended to snatch me away thus in the prime of life, while my darling child is * * * * and inform Mr. Markham, whose abode is——"
The words that originally stood in the place which we have marked with asterisks, had evidently been blotted out by the tears of the writer.
Reginald folded the letter as he had received it, and returned it to Katherine.
The young girl immediately replaced it in the little bag, which she sewed up with scrupulous care.
It was the poor creature's sole treasure; and she prized it as the last and only memento that she possessed of her mother.
"And you know not to whom that unfinished letter alluded?" said the rector, after a long pause, during which the bag, with its precious contents, had been consigned once more to the secret drawer in the work-box.
"I have not the least idea," answered Kate, drying her tears. "I was only four years old when my mother died, and of course could take no steps to inquire after the Mr. Markham mentioned in the letter. My uncle has often assured me that he took some trouble in the matter, but without success. Markham, you know, sir, is by no means an uncommon name."