She glanced at the beginning, "My dear Ken."
She looked at the end, "Your loving Father, Joseph Fortescue."
Yes, it was the same! Even the handwriting was familiar to her; she had often seen it before when old Mr. Fortescue had written with the cheques which he sent to her mother.
Hastily she put the letter back in the box, closed the lid, and tied the string tightly round it; not a word of it should be seen by any one. She was trembling with agitation as she did so, and the old woman noticed it.
"You know him, my dear?"
"Yes, I know him," she said; but her teeth chattered as she spoke.
"You're cold, my dear."
"No, not cold, only so glad."
"Has he wanted it, my dear?"
"I expect so; he hasn't told me, but it may be everything to him just now, if it's good news. I hope it is."