“‘Oh, no, Anna will never do that. She is probably too much occupied in Paris, and too happy with Mr. Haverleigh to write many letters,’ Mrs. Strong replied, but her face belied her hopeful words.
“She had felt many misgivings with regard to Anna’s marriage, and her chance for happiness with a man as cold, and proud, and reticent as Mr. Haverleigh. But it could not now be helped, and so she made the best of it, and prided herself on having a daughter abroad, and rather enjoyed the slight elevation in society which it really had given her. In the little town of Millfield it was something to be the mother of the rich Mrs. Haverleigh, and to talk of my ‘daughter’s country-house in Scotland, and Chateau d’Or in France;’ and on this Thanksgiving day the good woman wore her new black silk—Mr. Haverleigh’s gift—in honor of him, and committed the extravagance of celery and cranberries, too, and wondered as she basted the turkey browning in the oven, where Anna was and what her dinner would be.
“‘Perhaps Fred will bring us a letter. I told him to stop at the office. It is time he was here, she said, as, her arrangements for dinner completed, she stood a moment looking into the street, where the first snow-flakes were falling.
“Why was it that the day seemed so dreary to her, and why was there such an undefined dread of something in her heart? Was it a presentiment of the sad news coming to her so fast, borne by Fred, who appeared round a corner running rapidly, and waving his cap when he saw his mother’s face at the window.
“‘Here’s a letter from Anna,’ he cried, as he burst into the room, and held the precious document to sight. ‘Isn’t it jolly to get it on Thanksgiving day? ‘Most as good as having her here. Let’s keep it for the dessert!’
“But the mother could not wait, and taking the letter from her son, she glanced at the superscription, which was in Mr. Haverleigh’s handwriting. But that was not strange. The other letter had been directed by him, and so she had no suspicion of the blow awaiting her as she hastily broke the seal.
“‘Why, it is written by Mr. Haverleigh,’ she exclaimed, and then, with Mary and Fred both looking over her shoulder, she read the following:
“‘Paris, November 10th.
“‘Mrs. Strong:—Dear Madame:—I am sorry to be obliged to tell you the sad news about Anna, and I hope you will bear up bravely, for there is hope, and insanity is not as bad as death.’
“‘Insanity,’ the three whispered together, with white lips, and then read on rapidly: