FLETCHER'S HALL, August 12th.

You must do as you think best. You know that I long for you, that
the thought of your wasted life is constant pain to me. Think again,
think every day, and if ever you can make up your mind to leave Mrs.
Rayner, you know that I am here, that all I have is yours also. I
shall say no more.

So you have seen him, and he asked after me. Well. What was he doing
in Homburg, I wonder? Not that I care. I really believe, Constance,
that I care no longer. And yet it so happens that last night I
thought of him a good deal. It came about so. Grandmamma had gone to
bed, and I went into Aunt Caroline's room to light her candles.
There are some little water-colours round the mirror that she
painted as a girl. I stopped to look at them, and the poor soul took
them down one by one to show me. There was a story attached to each,
and her eyes brightened with remembrance of the past. Most of the
little pictures were different views of the same house. Suddenly she
gave a little smile.

"Wait a minute; I'll show you another picture, Milly--my best
picture." (They will call me Milly; there's no help for it.) "I have
never shown it to any one before, but you are a good girl; I think I
should like to show it to you."

She cleared a space upon her dressing-table, lighted a third
candle, a fourth, making a little illumination; then from her
wardrobe she brought an old desk, and unlocked it solemnly with a