Part 58 (2/2)
Despard spoke impetuously, but suddenly checked himself
”I received,” said he, ”by the last mail a letter from my uncle in Halifax He is ordered off to the Cape of Good Hope I wrote hi him to tell me without reserve all that he knew about my father's death I told him plainly that there was a mystery about it which I was deter it secret from me, and reht nor any reason toall, no ht be
”I received his letter by the last mail Here it is;” and he handed it to her ”Read it when you get home I have written a feords to you, little playmate, also He has told me all Did you know this before?”
”Yes, Lama,” said Mrs Thornton, with a look of sorrowful sympathy
”You knew all my father's fate?”
”Yes, Lama”
”And you kept it secret?”
”Yes, Laive you pain?”
Her voice trembled as she spoke Despard looked at her with an indescribable expression
”One thought,” said he, slowly, ”and one feeling engrosses all my nature, and even this news that I have heard can not drive it away
Even the thought of my father's fate, so dark and so hts that have all my life been suprehts are?”
She was silent Despard's hand wandered over the keys They always spoke in low tones, which were almost whispers, tones which were inaudible except to each other And Mrs Thornton had to bow her head close to his to hear what he said
”I ain I do not knohat I can do, but my father's death requires further exaives dark hints I ain?” said Mrs Thornton, sadly
Despard sighed
”Would it not be better,” said he, as he took her hand in his--”would it not be better for you, little playave hi look of sad reproach Then tears filled her eyes
”This can not go on forever,” she murmured ”It must come to that at last!”
CHAPTER XXIX
BEATRICE'S JOURNAL
October 30, 1848--My recovery has been slow, and I aether Why should I do otherwise?
Day succeeds day, and each day is a blank
Mylooks on the sea, and I can sit there and feed my heart on the memories which that sea calls up It is coh I can not hear its voice Oh, how I should rejoice if I could get down by its in and touch its waters! Oh how I should rejoice if those waters would flow overnow I do not know This uneventful life offers nothing to record Mrs Coentle, and as affectionate as ever Philips, poor, timorous, kindly soul, sends et here?