"Then what makes you care so much, papa?" persisted Agnes.
"I can't tell you, little one," said he, kissing her, and tossing her up in the air; but he looked at me.
In the early twilight that afternoon I found my uncle lying with closed eyes on the lounge in the library. He was very tired by his long forenoon's work in the garret. I sat down on the floor and stroked his dear old white hair.
"Pet," he said, without opening his eyes, "that letter had the whole soul of a woman in it."
"I thought so, dear," said I, "by your face."
After a long interval he said: "I could not find a word more of her writing; I might have known I should not;" and again, after a still longer silence, "Would you like to read it, Nell?"
"I am not sure, Uncle Jo," I said. "It seems hardly right. I think she would not so much mind your having it, because you are a man; but another woman! no, uncle dear, I think the letter belongs to you."
"Oh, you true woman-hearted darling," he said, kissing me; "but some day I think I shall want you to read it with me. She would not mind your reading it, if she knew you as I do."
Just then Aunt Sarah came into the room, and we said no more.
Several days passed by, and the mysterious letter was forgotten by everybody except my uncle and me.