His eyes were swollen, and tears were trickling down his cheeks.

His voice had sunk to a husky choking, and when he stood before Agias he was unable to get out a word, but, after a few vain attempts which ended in prolonged sniffles, thrust into his young friend's hand a tablet.
It was in Greek, in the childish, awkward hand of Artemisia, and ran as follows:-- "Artemisia to her dear, dear Agias.

I never wrote a letter before, and you must excuse the blunders in this.

I don't know how to begin to tell you the dreadful thing that may happen to me.

I will try and stop crying, and write it out just as it all happened.