Colonel Falconer heaved a long sigh, and placed the letter in her hands.
Pansy, womanlike, read the name at the end first. It was traced in ornate characters, but it stung her like a serpent’s fang:
Your unhappy niece,
Juliette Ives.
She glanced at the top of the sheet, and read:
Richmond, Virginia.
Colonel Falconer had walked to the window of their pretty breakfast room, and was looking out—perhaps to hide a moisture in his eyes.
He did not see how pale grew the beautiful face of his young wife, nor how her jeweled hands trembled as they held the letter before her eyes. She read on, with a sinking heart:
Dear Uncle: This is to tell you that mamma died yesterday, although I do not suppose you will care much, as you are so happy with the wife who crowded poor mamma and me out of your heart. She died suddenly, of heart disease, from which she suffered so long, and I am left penniless and friendless, for she spent everything she had before she died. We would have been more saving, but you always let us think I would have your money, and I think the news of your marriage hastened her death, she was so disappointed.
Now what am I to do? I have no money, as you know, and I am not fitted to work for my living. Has your wife turned your heart against me, or are you willing to take mamma’s place and support me in the style I’ve been used to? I suppose I’ll be married, some time, although poor girls don’t stand much chance. I don’t think Norman would care for poverty, though, if only he would come to his senses in other things. I am here in your house still. We were glad you left us that when you married so suddenly and strangely. I’ve promised the servants you will pay their wages. I hope you will come home and settle with the people mamma owed. I charged the funeral expenses to you. I knew you wouldn’t mind. Please answer at once, and let me know what to expect from you.
Your unhappy niece,
Juliette Ives.