CHAPTER XXV.
JENNY'S POSTE RESTANTE After Jenny's death two letters had come for her from Isabel, who had no knowledge of what had been happening to her friends of New Zion.
There is something peculiarly sad about the letters that for a little time go on coming for the dead.

Perhaps nothing more simply brings home the fact that they are no longer with us.

Even little bills, circulars offering new spring goods at sale prices, come charged with pathos, and Theophil smiled at his own folly as he kept them all.

Sad little _poste restante_! Will the letters ever be called for?
Theophil did not open the letters, but as days went by and no more came, he sometimes found himself taking them from their drawer and looking at them.

Isabel's handwriting, though his soul would not confess it to himself, still held the power of a rune over his heart.
Had no traitor thought ever whispered deep down in the darkness of his consciousness that the way was now open to Isabel?
Such thoughts indeed had come to him, but unwelcomed, involuntarily, as those foul thoughts which will sometimes torture the pure, or those base thoughts which may appal the noble.
The mind, like the body, has its foul humours, which can only be accepted with patience as a part of the inscrutable mechanism of human organisms.