ND,--The grief which wrung my heart at
your departure has been mitigated by the delight which I experienced
at the receipt of your most welcome letters_.' Isn't that delightful?
Unluckily his departure didn't wring my heart at all, and, worse
still, I have no grief at his absence to be mitigated by his letters.
Alas! I'm afraid mine must be an exceptional case, for even my
'Complete Letter-Writer,' my vade-mecum, which goes into such
charming details, can not help me. After all I suppose I must use my
own poor brains."

After all this nonsense Zillah suddenly grew serious. Hilda seemed to
understand the cause of her extravagant volatility, and watched her
closely. Zillah began to write, and went on rapidly, without a
moment's hesitation; without any signs whatever of that childish
inexperience at which she had hinted. Her pen flew over the paper
with a speed which seemed to show that she had plenty to say, and
knew perfectly well how to say it. So she went on until she had
filled two pages, and was proceeding to the third. Then an
exclamation from Hilda caused her to look up.

"My dear Zillah," cried Hilda, who was sitting in a chair a little
behind her, "what in the world are you thinking of? From this
distance I can distinguish your somewhat peculiar caligraphy--with
its bold down strokes and decided 'character,' that people talk
about. Now, as you know that I write a little, cramped, German hand,
you will have to imitate my humble handwriting, or else I'm afraid
Captain Molyneux will be thoroughly puzzled--unless, indeed, you tell
him that you have been employing an amanuensis. That will require a
good deal of explanation, but--" she added, after a thoughtful pause,
"I dare say it will be the best in the end."

At these words Zillah started, dropped her pen, and sat looking at
Hilda perfectly aghast. "I never thought of that," she murmured, and
sat with an expression of the deepest dejection. At length a long
sigh escaped her. "You are right, Hilda," she said. "Of course it
will need explanation; but how is it possible to do that in a letter?
It can't be done. At least I can't do it. What shall I do?"

She was silent, and sat for a long time, looking deeply vexed and
disappointed.

"Of course," she said at last, "he will have to know all when he
comes back; but that is nothing. How utterly stupid it was in me not
to think of the difference in our writing! And now I suppose I must
give up my idea of writing a l