CHAPTER VI.
"Nought shall prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings." Wordsworth.
Tuesday, June 16th.
Last night when I sat writing busily, a hand was put upon my paper. Starting up, I saw Frank with one of his very grave looks. I hastily shut my desk. "How is Emily?" I asked quickly.
"Emily is asleep; and I thought you were, long ago. I really must restrict you to certain hours of writing. Do you know how late it is?" He held his watch toward me, and to my amazement it was near midnight.
"I took no note of time," I replied, "I was so absorbed in writing. It is almost like talking with my own dear mother."
"Well," said Frank, touched a little, I suppose, by my sad tone, "you shall write as much as you please, only don't take the time from your sleep."