Always yours,

“Alresca.”

“That is all?” asked Rosa, when I had finished reading it.

I passed her the letter to read for herself. Her hand shook as she returned it to me.

And we both blushed. We were both confused, and each avoided the glance of the other. The silence between us was difficult to bear. I broke it.

“The question is, What am I to do? Alresca is dead. Shall I respect his wish, or shall I open the packet now? If he could have foreseen your anxiety, he probably would not have made these conditions. Besides, who can say that the circumstances he hints at have not already arisen? Who can say” — I uttered the words with an emphasis the daring of which astounded even myself —