there is a kiss on the red stone, don't lose it.

Blessings upon you, my heart of gold.

EMILIA.




LETTER XI.


GRAYSMILL, October 5th.

Three several times have I begun to write to you, but I came to the
conclusion that it is better not to write at all than to give vent
to such feelings as mine. Besides, I had nothing, positively
nothing, to tell you. Furthermore, you did not deserve a letter.
However, as it is all too long since you honoured me with a
communication, Mrs. Norris, I feel I must write and remind you of my
existence. I am well, thank you, but the world's a dull place.

Grandmamma and Aunt Caroline--perhaps myself, who knows?--are in a
great state of excitement to-day because a niece of theirs is coming
here on a visit. I heard of her existence for the first time last
week, and immediately decided to invite her to Fletcher's Hall. For,
Constance, let me whisper it, the old ladies--bless their
hearts!--are killing me. This person, Ida Seymour by name, is a
spinster of some forty winters, a kind of roving, charitable star,
from what I gather, who spends her life visiting from place to place