"'I am yours as you will,
"'Mar'ke C. Kirkdale.'
"LETTER OF THE HOUSEKEEPER.
"'Respected Madam—I do not know that I have any right presuming to meddle with affairs that don't belong to my walk in life, far be it from me to do so, especially to one that whatever they may say seems always like my mistress to me—owing to the last words my poor dear Mr. Arthur ever spoke was, She is my wife, my own wife, let no one gainsay it, which at the time I did not take in fairly, being almost broken down with sorrow, for I had nursed him as a baby, Madam, and loved him humbly as my own son, no lady could have loved him better, which having lost him and all this trouble (my heart seeming fairly broke) makes me write, respected Madam, worse than usual, never having been a scholar, he always wrote them for me, God bless him. You won't think me presuming, Madam, when I say these things never having had the honour of seeing you, but you are the only person who can feel for me under these circumstances of trial more than any others. For to see them going through the house looking into precious drawers and burning papers in the library fire and turning on a person like a Tiger, though he may be a gentleman (though how of that family that always was remarkable gentle spoken I cannot tell.) There never were two cousins differenter. I never can regard him as my master, never. I would sooner leave the old place and beg my bread than feel him master after my blessed Mr. Arthur, not that I'd speak evil of the family. But God Almighty reads the hearts of men, and I only hope some may come out clear in appearing at the Judgment, and mayn't disgrace the Family then—for to say that my Mr. Arthur never made a will when twice he's spoke to me upon the subject, always trusting me, Madam, telling me where he kept it in the library, and though it's not to be found the house through, still I know it must be somewhere, for I'd trust his word against a thousand. I shall ask Mr. ---- to forward this present not knowing your address, he is a kind gentleman and a true friend. I send you the little scrap of paper with the last words he ever wrote. Some may say it's no good and unreadable, but I took care that them that didn't value it didn't get it, though they did search everywhere, and looked so black when it couldn't be found being in my pocket at the time. I present my services, honoured Madam, and my dutiful affection for the sake of him that's gone.
"'Elizabeth Eldridge.'
"LETTER OF ARTHUR.
"'Only a moment or so left to me. Goodbye, my Lina! I am dying—and without you near me. We have waited so long! It is hard to leave you alone in the world, darling. Come and live here—your own home. If you had been here but one day, things might have been otherwise. Take care of the poor—keep Mrs. Eldridge with you, she is faithful and true—true—she knows—God keep you, darling. I am so weak—there is no hope.
"'Arthur Kirkdale.'
"For three days Lina lay on her bed almost without giving a sign of life,—her face rigid and colorless. She refused to eat, and only when I myself used my authority with her did any nourishment pass her lips. On the evening of the third day I became alarmed, and determined to send for a physician. I told Justine to despatch one of the servants for Dr. B——, but to request him to come after five o'clock, when I should have returned from vespers, as I wished to see him myself. I gave my directions to Justine as we stood together at the foot of Lina's bed, in so low a whisper as to prevent, as I thought, the possibility of her hearing me. Great, then, was my astonishment, when, on leaving my room, ready for church, I met Lina on the staircase. Her face was very pale, and she clung to the banisters for support as she descended. Before I could express my surprise, she said,—
"'I feel very much better, Madame, and if you please will call the class for English lesson at six.'