CHAPTER VIII
LOSS
We had left town and come down to the country. Viola had not seemed quite so well in the last three months since the night of our reconciliation, and even here in the country she did not seem to regain her colour and her usual spirits.
She declared, however, there was nothing the matter with her, and we had been intensely happy.
One morning when we came down to our rather late breakfast I found a long, thin, curiously addressed letter lying by my plate.
Viola took it up laughingly, and then I saw her suddenly turn pale, and she laid it back on the table as if the touch of it hurt her.
"Oh, Trevor, that is a letter from Suzee! I am sure it is! Why should it come now, just when we are so happy?"
I looked at her in surprise, and took up the letter to cut it open.
"What makes you think it comes from her?" I asked; "it is not at all likely."
"I know it does," she said simply; "I feel it."