shiver. "I am well," she said, with her
white lips.

Mr. Henry stopped, and his face had a strong twitch of anger. The next
moment he had turned to the Colonel. "You must not blame yourself," says
he, "for this effect on Mrs. Durie. It is only natural; we were all
brought up like brother and sister."

Mrs. Henry looked at her husband with something like relief, or even
gratitude. In my way of thinking, that speech was the first step he made
in her good graces.

"You must try to forgive me, Mrs. Durie, for indeed and I am just an
Irish savage," said the Colonel; "and I deserve to be shot, for not
breaking the matter more artistically to a lady.--But here are the
Master's own letters; one for each of the three of you; and to be sure
(if I know anything of my friend's genius) he will tell his own story
with a better grace."

He brought the three letters forth as he spoke, arranged them by their
superscriptions, presented the first to my lord, who took it greedily,
and advanced towards Mrs. Henry holding out the second.

But the lady waved it back. "To my husband," says she, with a choked
voice.

The Colonel was a quick man, but at this he was somewhat nonplussed. "To
be sure!" says he; "how very dull of me! To be sure!" But he still held
the letter.

At last Mr. Henry reached forth his hand, and there was nothing to be
done but give it up. Mr. Henry took the letters (both hers and his own),
and looked upon their outside, with his brows knit hard, as if he were
thinking. He had surprised me all through by his excellent behaviour:
but he was to excel himself now.

"Let me give you a hand to your room," said he to his wife. "This has
come something of the suddenest; and, at any rate, you will wish to read
your letter by yourself."

Again she looked upon him with the same thought of wonder; but he gave
her no time, coming straight to where she stood. "It will be better so,
believe me," said he; "and Colonel Burke is too considerate not to
excuse you." And with that he took her hand by the fingers, and led her
from the hall.

Mrs. Henry returned no more that night; and when Mr. Henry went to visit
her next morning, as I heard long afterwards, she gave him the letter
again, still unopened.

"O, read it and be done!" he had cried.

"Spare me that," said she.

And by these two speeches, to my way of thinking, each undid a great
part of what they had previously done well. But the letter, sure enough,
came into m