"I have not worn ear-rings in my ears for a fortnight; my personal appearance is become a matter of indifference to me; any description of mental exertion is excruciating; I sit constantly listening for the ringing of the door-bell, and when it sounds, I rush frantically to the head of the staircase, and look over to see who it is; the mere sight of pen and ink excites delirious ideas judge what I suffer in writing to you.
"To make the matter worse (if it could be), I have been informed privately, that he is going home to crown at the altar of Hymen an old attachment to one of the loveliest of all England's daughters. Conceive the complication of my feelings!
"Nothing is left me but the resources of friendship so come, darling Fleda, before a barrier of ice interposes itself between my chilled heart and your sympathy.
"Mr. Thorn's state would move my pity if I were capable of being moved by anything by this you will comprehend he is returned. He has been informed by somebody, that there is a wolf in sheep's clothing prowling about Queechy, and his head is filled with the idea that you have fallen a victim, of which, in my calmer moments, I have in vain endeavoured to dispossess him. Every morning we are wakened up at an unseasonable hour by a furious ringing at the door-bell Joe Manton pulls off his nightcap, and slowly descending the stairs, opens the door, and finds Mr. Thorn, who inquires distractedly whether Miss Ringgan has arrived; and being answered in the negative, gloomily walks off towards the East river. The state of anxiety in which his mother is thereby kept is rapidly depriving her of all her flesh but we have directed Joe lately to reply, 'No, Sir, but she is expected' upon which Mr. Thorn regularly smiles faintly, and rewards the 'fowling-piece' with a quarter dollar
"So make haste, dear Fleda, or I shall feel that we are acting the part of innocent swindlers.
C.E."
There was but one voice at home on the point whether Fleda should go. So she went.
CHAPTER V.
Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're allycholy; I pray you why is it? Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Some nights after their arrival, the doctor and Fleda were seated at tea in the little snug old-fashioned back parlour, where the doctor's nicest of housekeepers, Mrs. Pritchard, had made it ready for them. In general, Mrs. Pritchard herself poured it out for the doctor, but she descended most cheerfully from her post of elevation, whenever Fleda was there to fill it.