CHAPTER XXII. THE LETTER.

ohn,youpainedmeafterwards:forgivenbeeveryill—freelyforgiven—forthesakeofthatonedearrememberedgood! Aretherewickedthings,nothuman,whichenvyhumanbliss?Arethereevilinfluenceshauntingtheair,andpoisoningitforman?Whatwasnearme? Somethinginthatvastsolitarygarretsoundedstrangely.MostsurelyandcertainlyIheard,asitseemed,astealthyfootonthatfloor:asortofglidingoutfromthedirectionoftheblackrecesshauntedbythemalefactorcloaks.Iturned:mylightwasdimtheroomwaslong—butasIlive!Isawinthemiddleofthatghostlychamberafigureallblackandwhitetheskirtsstraight,narrow,blacktheheadbandaged,veiled,white. Saywhatyouwill,reader—tellmeIwasnervousormadaffirmthatIwasunsettledbytheexcitementofthatletterdeclarethatIdreamedthisIvow—Isawthere—inthatroom—onthatnight—animagelike—aNUN. IcriedoutIsickened.HadtheshapeapproachedmeImighthaveswooned.Itreceded:Imadeforthedoor.HowIdescendedallthestairsIknownot.ByinstinctIshunnedtherefectory,andshapedmycoursetoMadame’ssitting-room:Iburstin.Isaid— “ThereissomethinginthegrenierIhavebeenthere:Isawsomething.Goandlookatit,allofyou!” Isaid,“Allofyou”fortheroomseemedtomefullofpeople,thoughintruththerewerebutfourpresent:MadameBeckhermother,MadameKint,whowasoutofhealth,andnowstayingwithheronavisitherbrother,M.VictorKint,andanothergentleman,who,whenIenteredtheroom,wasconversingwiththeoldlady,andhadhisbacktowardsthedoor. Mymortalfearandfaintnessmusthavemademedeadlypale.Ifeltcoldandshaking.Theyallroseinconsternationtheysurroundedme.Iurgedthemtogotothegrenierthesightofthegentlemendidmegoodandgavemecourage:itseemedasifthereweresomehelpandhope,withmenathand.Iturnedtothedoor,beckoningthemtofollow.Theywantedtostopme,butIsaidtheymustcomethisway:theymustseewhatIhadseen—somethingstrange,standinginthemiddleofthegarret.And,now,Irememberedmyletter,leftonthedrawerswiththelight.Thispreciousletter!Fleshorspiritmustbedefiedforitssake.Iflewup-stairs,hasteningthefasterasIknewIwasfollowed:theywereobligedtocome. Lo!whenIreachedthegarret-door,allwithinwasdarkasapit:thelightwasout.Happilysomeone—Madame,Ithink,withherusualcalmsense—hadbroughtalampfromtheroomspeedily,therefore,astheycameup,araypiercedtheopaqueblackness.Therestoodthebougiequenchedonthedrawersbutwherewastheletter?AndIlookedforthatnow,andnotforthenun. “Myletter!myletter!”Ipantedandplained,almostbesidemyself.Igropedonthefloor,wringingmyhandswildly.Cruel,crueldoom!Tohavemybitofcomfortpreternaturallysnatchedfromme,ereIhadwelltasteditsvirtue! Idon’tknowwhattheothersweredoingIcouldnotwatchthem:theyaskedmequestionsIdidnotanswertheyransackedallcornerstheyprattledaboutthisandthatdisarrangementofcloaks,abreachorcrackinthesky-light—Iknownotwhat.“Somethingorsomebodyhasbeenhere,”wassagelyaverred. “Oh!theyhavetakenmyletter!”criedthegrovelling,groping,monomaniac. “Whatletter,Lucy?Mydeargirl,whatletter?”askedaknownvoiceinmyear.CouldIbelievethatear?No:andIlookedup.CouldItrustmyeyes?HadIrecognisedthetone?DidInowlookonthefaceofthewriterofthatveryletter?Wasthisgentlemannearmeinthisdimgarret,JohnGraham—Dr.Brettonhimself? Yes:itwas.HehadbeencalledinthatveryeveningtoprescribeforsomeaccessofillnessinoldMadameKinthewasthesecondgentlemanpresentinthesalle-à-mangerwhenIentered. “Wasitmyletter,Lucy?” “Yourown:yours—theletteryouwrotetome.Ihadcomeheretoreaditquietly.Icouldnotfindanotherspotwhereitwaspossibletohaveittomyself.Ihadsaveditallday—neveropenedittillthisevening:itwasscarcelyglancedover:Icannotbe