She shook her little head.
“I can only read fables,” said she.
“Never mind, try, come, let us see.”
She unfolded the paper, and began to spell it out, pointing to each letter with her finger.
“S, E, N, sen; T, E, N, C, E——”
I snatched it from her hand. It was the sentence of death that she was reading to me, and her nurse had bought the paper for a penny. It would cost me more than that.
No words can describe my feelings. My violence frightened the child. She almost wept. Suddenly she exclaimed, “Give me back my piece of paper; I want it for a plaything.”
I gave her to the nurse. “Take her away,” I cried. Then I fell back in my chair, gloomy, worn-out, and desperate. Let them come now, I care for nothing; the last link that binds me to life is broken, they can do what they like with me.
CHAPTER XLII.
The priest is kind, and the gaoler, too, has his tender side. I believe that they both shed a tear, as I told the nurse to take away my child.