Had he written at last, and if so, why had she never known it?
Could it be her proud mother had withheld what would have been life to her slowly dying daughter?
It was terrible to suspect such a thing, and Anna struggled to cast the thought aside, saying to Adah.

"Was there anything else peculiar about it ?" "Nothing, except that 'twas inclosed in a mourning envelope, sealed with wax, and the letter on the seal was--was--" "Oh, pray think quick.

You have not forgotten.

You must not forget," and Anna's soft blue eyes grew dark with intense excitement as Adah tried to recall the initial on that seal.
"She had not noticed particularly, she did not suppose it was important.
She was not certain, but she believed--yes, she was nearly sure--the letter was 'M.'" "Oh, you do not know how much good you have done me," Anna cried, and laying her throbbing head on Adah's neck, she wept a torrent of tears, wrung out by the knowing that Charlie had not forgotten her quite.

He had written, and that of itself was joy, even though he loved another.
"The initial was 'M.'-- you are sure, you are sure," she kept whispering, while Adah soothed the poor head, wondering at Anna's agitation, and in a measure guessing the truth, the old story, love, whose course had not run smoothly.
"And mother took it," Anna said at last, growing more composed.
"Yes, she said she would bring it to you," was Adah's reply.
For several minutes Anna sat looking out upon the snowy landscape, her usually smooth brow wrinkled with thought, and her eyes gleaming with a strange, new light.