For Ursula--" here she carefully busied herself in the depths of her pocket--"my dear child sends you this." It was a little note--unsealed.

The superscription was simply his name, in her clear, round, fair hand-writing--"John Halifax." His fingers closed over it convulsively.

"I--she is--very kind." The words died away--the hand which grasped, ay, for more than a minute, the unopened letter, trembled like an aspen leaf.
"Yes, hers is a grateful nature," observed Mrs.Jessop, sedulously looking at and speaking to me.

"I would not wish it otherwise--I would not wish her to forget those whose worth she proved in her season of trouble." I was silent.

The old lady's tongue likewise failed her.