Friday, July 24th.
It is a week since I wrote you, dear mother. How I have longed to have you with me! I shall soon begin to expect another packet of letters. I desire to tell you about poor Emily; but my hand trembles so much, I don't know that I ought to enter upon it.
On Monday last I felt stronger than I had done for a week or two. Frank lifted me in his arms, and carried me down stairs for a short drive. The air was delightful, and I returned much refreshed, and invigorated. I wanted to walk up stairs, for fear Frank would injure himself carrying me. Cæsar stepped eagerly forward; but the Doctor only laughed, and said, "No, Cæsar, I claim this privilege, I can carry her as easily as I could carry a child."
I felt quite an appetite for my dinner, and was resting in my easy chair after it, when Emily came up to my room and walked toward me in such a calm, unnatural manner, I looked at her in alarm.
She seemed to be changed into marble, so colorless and rigid were her features. She silently put an envelop in my hand. I did not recognize the writing, but opened it, and took out a note, which, though written almost illegibly, either from emotion or haste, I saw was from Mr. Benson. It contained but few words, which were exactly these:—
"Miss Lenox,
"Beloved Emily,—
"I have this minute received your note, which has completely unmanned me.
"I am already on my way to Europe, where I shall probably stay several years; and where, until the last few minutes, I had hoped to spend the remainder of my life. It is only by the kindness of Captain B—— I am permitted to detain the pilot, while I write these few words.
"We are already out of the channel. May God bless and forgive us both! Dearest, farewell!
"Frederic Benson."
Saturday, July 25th.
I must finish telling you about my dear sister. Frank told mother as he came into my room, he should have thought that I was the one who had received sad tidings; for I sat holding Emily's hand tightly in mine, while the tears were streaming down my cheeks. Emily was calm and unmoved. I don't know how she feels; but she appears to be petrified. This appearance made such an impression upon me, that I had a dreadful dream after it. I sprang out of bed with a horrible shriek, thinking my distressed sister was insane, and I was trying to save her from some impending danger.
The next morning Frank looked very grave, and I heard his voice in the next room conversing with mother. The result of which conversation is, that she and Emily have gone for a few weeks to a town about a hundred miles distant, to visit some relatives.
In all the arrangements, sister was entirely passive, exhibiting neither unwillingness, nor interest. I hardly thought she could have left me so coldly. Not a muscle in her face moved as she kissed her farewell. Her hand remained passive in mine, and was cold and clammy. I know her brother is very anxious about her; and I expressed my fear that he had sent her away on my account.