This confession can be
made in three words. I love you."
The letter dropped from my hand. I looked at Betteredge. "In the name of
Heaven," I said, "what does it mean?"
He seemed to shrink from answering the question.
"You and Limping Lucy were alone together this morning, sir," he said.
"Did she say nothing about Rosanna Spearman?"
"She never even mentioned Rosanna Spearman's name."
"Please to go back to the letter, Mr. Franklin. I tell you plainly, I
can't find it in my heart to distress you, after what you have had to
bear already. Let her speak for herself, sir. And get on with your grog.
For your own sake, get on with your grog."
I resumed the reading of the letter.
"It would be very disgraceful to me to tell you this, if I was a living
woman when you read it. I shall be dead and gone, sir, when you find my
letter. It is that which makes me bold. Not even my grave will be left
to tell of me. I may own the truth--with the quicksand waiting to hide
me when the words are written.
"Besides, you will find your nightgown in my hiding-place, with the
smear of the paint on it; and you will want to know how it came to be
hidden by me? and why I said nothing to you about it in my life-time?
I have only one reason to give.
Pages:
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604