"Bring it back when you have read it; and don't breathe a word of what it tells you to any living being—I trust to your honour."
Before I could answer, she had closed the casement and turned away. I saw her cast herself back in the old oak chair, and cover her face with her hands. Her feelings had been wrought to a pitch that rendered it necessary to seek relief in tears.
Panting with eagerness, and struggling to suppress my hopes, I hurried home, and rushed up stairs to my room,—having first provided myself with a candle, though it was scarcely twilight yet,—then, shut and bolted the door, determined to tolerate no interruption, and sitting down before the table, opened out my prize and delivered myself up, to its perusal—first, hastily turning over the leaves and snatching a sentence here and there, and then, setting myself steadily to read it through.
I have it now before me; and though you could not of course, peruse it with half the
