"I had not thought of that. But 'tis very true. And, trembling and looking fearfully about her, she put her hand inside the whalebone of her bodice and drew out letters.
"I thought not these would be seen by any, but buried with me when I die; but't is impossible you should know me for honest, and because honour speaks in your face--read these."
I took them, trembling inwardly. She, poor wretch, was newer to her trade, and was like to faint. I knew the writing.
I will see you tomorrow, if possible. You know it is not above five days since I saw you, and that I would ten times more, if it were at all convenient.--Cad bids me tell you that, if you complain of difficult writing, he will give you enough to complain of.
"Cad"? Then I remembered--"Cadenus and Vanessa." So--she might call him by a little familiar name, but I, never. I stopt there.
"Madam, have you thus writ to him?"
"Always of late, Madam. With a dash before it, as here you will see the cause."
She pushed a letter into my hand, eager, as I thought, to convince not only me but herself of his regard. And thus it read:--
I wish your letters were as difficult (cautious) as mine, for then they would be of no consequence if dropped by careless messengers. A stroke thus--signifies all that may be said to Cad at beginning or conclusion.
"So," says I, "a stroke means endearments. Otherwise 't is difficult to conclude these sentimental letters."