. Garth guessed from whom it came,
and was immensely pleased if, on opening, his surmise proved correct.
There were nine to-day, of varying interest,--some from men friends,
one or two from charming women who professed themselves ready to come
and see him as soon as he wished for visitors, one from a blind asylum
asking for a subscription, a short note from the doctor heralding his
visit, and a bill for ties from a Bond Street shop.

Nurse Rosemary's fingers shook as she replaced the eighth in its
envelope. The last of the pile lay on the table. As she took it up,
Garth with a quick movement flung his cigarette-end through the window,
and lay back, shading his face with his hand.

"Did I shoot straight, nurse?" he asked.

She leaned forward and saw the tiny column of blue smoke rising from
the gravel.

"Quite straight," she said. "Mr. Dalmain, this letter has an Egyptian
stamp, and the postmark is Cairo. It is sealed with scarlet
sealing-wax, and the engraving on the seal is a plumed helmet with the
visor closed."

"And the writing?" asked Garth, mechanically and very quietly.

"The handwriting is rather bold and very clear, with no twirls or
flourishes. It is written with a broad nib."

"Will you kindly open it, nurse, and tell me the signature before
reading the rest of the letter."

Nurse Rosemary fought with her throat, which threatened to close
altogether and stifle her voice. She opened the letter, turned to the
last page, and found the signature.

"It is signed 'Jane Champion,' Mr. Dalmain," said Nurse Rosemary.

"Read it, please," said Garth quietly. And Nurse Rosemary began.

Dear Dal: What CAN I write? If I were with you, there would be so much
I could say; but writing is so difficult, so impossible.

I know it is harder for you than it would have been for any of us; but
you will be braver over it than we should have been, and you will come
through splendidly, and go on thinking life beautiful, and making it
seem so to other people. _I_ never thought it so until that summer at
Overdene and Shenstone when you taught me the perception of beauty.
Since then, in every sunset and sunrise, in the blue-green of the
Atlantic, the purple of the mountains, the spray of Niagara, the cherry
blossom of Japan, the golden deserts of Egypt, I have thought of you,
and understood them better, because of you. Oh, Dal! I should like to
come and tell you all about them, and let you see them through my eyes;
and then