Then Mrs. Bird put her hand into her pocket and produced Henry’s enclosure.
Joan saw the writing, and her poor white hands trembled so that she could not unfasten the envelope. “Open it for me,” she whispered. “Oh! I cannot see: read it to me. Quick, quick!”
“Don’t be in a hurry, my dear; it won’t fly away,” said Mrs. Bird as she took the letter. Then she put on her spectacles, cleared her throat, and began.
“‘Dearest Joan—’Really, my love, do you not think that you had better read this for yourself? It seems so very—confidential.”
“Oh! I can’t; I must hear it at once. Go on, pray.”
Thus encouraged, Mrs. Bird went on, nothing loath, till she reached the last word of the letter.
“Well,” she said, laying it upon her knees, “now, that is what I call behaving like a gentleman. At any rate, my dear, you have been lucky in falling into the hands of such a man, for some would not have treated you so well, having begun wicked they would have gone on wickeder. Why, good gracious! what’s the matter with the girl? She’s fainted, I do believe.” And she ran to get water, reproaching herself the while for her folly in letting Joan have the letter while she was still so weak. By the time that she returned with the water, the necessity for it had gone by. Joan had recovered, and was seated staring into vacancy, with a rapt smile upon her face that, so thought Mrs. Bird, made her look like an angel.
“You silly girl!” she said: “you gave me quite a turn.”
“Give me that letter,” answered Joan.
Mrs. Bird picked it up from the floor, where it had fallen, and handed it to her. Joan took it and pressed it to her breast as though it were a thing alive much, indeed, as a mother may be seen to press her new-born infant when the fear and agony are done with and love and joy remain. For a while she sat thus in silence, holding the letter to her heart, then she spoke:——