At that moment Mr. Keith came in with a letter in his hand. His face was brighter and happier than they had seen it for many days, eagerness and anxiety mingling with its gladness.
"From Don to you, my dear," he cried, holding the letter high, with its address toward her.
"Oh, then it is not true! not true!" was the simultaneous, joyful exclamation from his daughters; and Mildred, embracing the weeping invalid, said, "Do you hear, dearest mother? A letter from Don, and you may dry your tears."
Her husband held it out to her with a glad and loving smile.
She grasped it eagerly, but in vain her trembling fingers essayed to tear it open.
"Let me, dear wife," he said, taking it gently from her.
"Read it," she said feebly; "my eyes are dim. Oh, my Rupert! is he living also?"
Mr. Keith glanced down the page, let the letter fall, and dropped his face into his hands with a heart-rending groan.
Zillah snatched it from the floor, her hand trembling like an aspen leaf, her face overspread with a deathly pallor.