Roxy Hastings — page 217: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

* / /f / 208 ROXY HASTINGS. of comfort to the afflicted family, but it did not detract much from the joy of the late mourners to find that thei inquiries to these points could not yet be answered. ; “T shall write to Lucy this week,” Mary said, “and I will send any message, or any letter even, that you may wish to forward to her, and if she replies I will bring you her answer.” | The ladies eagerly accepted this offer, and promised to have letters ready the next day. But how shall we get them to you?” they asked. ‘‘T will call for them the day after to-morrow,” Mary said, ‘‘on your solemn promise that I shall not be watched, and that no effort shall be made to learn whol am, or where I reside.” This was readily promised. “But I must warn you,” continued Miss Blythe, ‘‘not to expect a speedy answer to your letters; perhaps not within a month.” ‘“‘Lucy is then very distant?” said the mother, quickly. “Probably in the far West, or perhaps even beyond the sea.”’ Mary did not.reply to this conjecture, but was about to take her leave when she was sure that she saw a returning look of anxiety, almost of alarm, on Mrs. Holden’s face. It was too plain to be overlooked. “You have something more to say to me?” she said. “Yes,” replied the mother. “I cannot bear to see you go, for I know that my fears will get the ascendency when you are gone, and I shall be racked with doubt.” “Doubt of what?” “Of the certainty of this life-giving news. While you are here, and I look upon your truthful face, I cannot hesitate to believe all that you tell me. But I tremble when I remember what seemingly conclusive evidence we had of Lucy’s death. Do you understand me ?” “Yes, yes,” replied Mary, who seemed rather reflecting than listening, and who, with a hesitating air, touched the clasp of her reticule. ‘“What is there, after all,” continued the mother, “to counterbalance that proof? A stranger, refusing to give her name or residence, bringing no sign or token—” “I will give you a sign,” said Mary. ‘‘You know your daughter’s writing ?” ‘Yes, yes, yes!” was the eager response. Miss Blythe opened her reticule, and taking out Lucy’s letter, folded it so as to exhibit only the last few lines, Eomicbooks.com —