Another painful week wore slowly away, at the end of which I was able to sit up in a loose dressing-gown for several hours during the day.
I lost not a moment in writing to Margaretta directly I was able to hold a pen. I informed her of all that had passed between me and Catherine, and laid open my heart to her, without the least reserve. Deeming myself unworthy of her love, I left all to her generosity. I dispatched my letter with a thousand uncomfortable misgivings as to what effect it might produce upon the sensitive mind of my little cousin.
To write a long letter to George Harrison was the next duty I had to perform. But when I reflected on the delight which my communication could not fail to convey, this was not only an easy, but a delightful task. I had already arrived at the second closely written sheet, when a light tap at the door of the room announced the presence of Kate Lee.
"What, busy writing still, Geoffrey? What will honest Dan say to this rebellious conduct on the part of his patient? You must lay aside pens and paper for this day. Your face is flushed and feverish. Don't shake your head; my word is despotic in this house—I must be obeyed."
"Wait a few minutes, dear Miss Lee, and your will shall be absolute. It was because I am writing of you, that my letter has run to such an unconscionable length."
"Of me, Geoffrey?"
"Yes, of you, my charming friend."
"Nay, you are joking, Mr. Moncton. You would never distress me, by writing of me to strangers?"
"Strangers! oh no; but this is to one who is most dear to us both."
Catherine turned very pale.