"I heard a sound like some one dragging himself up from the floor, and after a long while--she was probably drying her eyes first--her voice was heard at the door, asking who was there and what was wanted of her.
"'It is I, Martha.' I said, 'I come to bring you--your plate--you left it downstairs.'
"'Take it with you into your room, I will fetch it to-morrow,' she replied, trying hard to suppress the sobs in her voice.
"'But something else has been added,' said I, and my words too were almost choked with tears.
"'Then give it me to-morrow.' she replied, 'I am already undressed.'
"'But it is from me,' said I.
"And because, despite her misery, in the kindness of her heart she did not want to hurt my feelings, she opened the door. I rushed up to her and wept upon her neck, while I kept tight hold of the plate with my left hand.
"'Whatever is the matter with you, child?' she asked, and patted me. 'A little while ago you seemed the only cheerful one, and now----'
"I pulled myself together, led her under the light, and pointed to the plate. At the first glance she recognised the handwriting, grew as white as a sheet, and stared at me like one possessed, out of eyes that were red with weeping.
"'Take them, take them!' said I.