Bessy Rane: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"My patience!" ejaculated Mrs. Gass. "What was writ in the letter? She said it was one of them enonymous things."

"So it was."

"Was it writ to himself?"

"No. To Mr. North."

"Well, now,"--dropping her voice--"was it about that young woman he got acquainted with? You know."

"No, no; nothing of that sort." And Dr. Rane, as the shortest way of ending the matter, gave her the details.

"There was not much in the letter," he said, in confidential tones. "No harm would have come of it but for Edmund North's frightful access of passion. If he dies, mind,"--the doctor added this in a dreamy tone, gazing out as if looking into the future--"if he dies, it will not be the letter that has killed him, but his own want of self-control."

"Don't talk of dying, doctor. It is to be hoped it won't come to that."

"It is, indeed."

"And Mr. Richard was not at home, the girl said!"