CHAPTER XVII.


THE SUMMONS.

Next morning the post brought me the following letter from my uncle.
Whoever of my readers may care to enter into my feelings as I read, must
imagine them for herself: I will not attempt to describe them. The letter
was not easy to read, as it was written in bed, and with his left hand.

"My little one,--I think I know more than you imagine. I think the secret
flew into your heart of itself; you did not take it up and put it there.
I think you tried to drive it out, and it would not go: the same Fate
that clips the thread of life, had clipped its wings that it could fly no
more! Did my little one think I had not a heart big enough to hold her
secret? I wish it had not been so: it has made her suffer! I pray my
little one to be sure that I am all on her side; that my will is to do
and contrive the best for her that lies in my power. Should I be unable
to do what she would like, she must yet believe me true to her as to my
God, less than whom only I love her:--less, because God is so much
bigger, that so much more love will hang upon him. I love you, dear, more
than any other creature except one, and that one is not in this world. Be
sure that, whatever it may cost me, I will be to you what your own
perfected soul will approve. Not to do my best for you, would be to be
false, not to God only, but to your father as well, whom I loved and love
dearly. Come to me, my child, and tell me all. I know you have done
nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. Some things are so difficult to