Lastly, there were the letters Annette wrote to Basil. They arrived at intervals of about four months, so that Chaytor was in possession of seven or eight of them. Proceeding as they did from a pure and beautiful nature, these letters, had Basil received them, would have been like wine to him, would have comforted and strengthened him through the hardest misfortunes and troubles, would have kept the sun shining upon him in the midst of the bitterest storms. He would have continued to work with gladness and hope instead of with indifference. It would have made the future a bright goal to which his eyes would ever have been turned with joy. Evidences of kindness and sympathy, still more, evidences of unselfish affection and love, are like the dew to the flower. They keep the heart fresh, they keep its windows ever open to the light. But of this blessing Basil was robbed by the machinations of a scoundrel: hence there was no sweetness in his labour, no hope for him in the future. So much to heart did Basil take Annette's silence that, had his nature been inclined to evil instead of good, mischief to others would probably have ensued, but as it was he was the only sufferer. In his utterances, when he was drawn to speak of the shock he had received, he was apt to exaggerate matters and to present himself in the worst light, but there had fallen to his share an inheritance of moral goodness which rendered it impossible for him to become a backslider from the paths of rectitude and honour. Except that he was unhappy in himself, and that Annette's silence took the salt out of his days, he was as he ever was, straightforward in his dealings and gentle and charitable towards his fellow-creatures.
"My dear, dear Basil" (thus ran Annette's first letter, written about five months after their last meeting in the Australian woods), "I have tried ever so hard to write to you before, but have not been able to because of uncle and aunt. I was afraid if they found out I was writing to you that they would take the letter away or do something to prevent it reaching you, and I wanted, too, to tell you how you could write to me, but have never been able till now. You will be glad to hear that if you write and address your letters exactly as I tell you, I am almost sure of receiving them. But first I must say something about myself and how I am. Uncle and aunt are not unkind to me, but they are not kind. They leave me to myself a good deal, but I know I am being watched all the time. I don't mind that so much, but what I do miss is my dear father's voice and yours, and the birds and flowers and beautiful scenery I always lived among till I was taken away. I would not mind if you were with me, for I love you truly, dear Basil, and can never, never forget you. That last time we were together by Mr. Corrie's hut, how often and often do I think of it! I go through everything that passed except the unkind words spoken by Uncle Gilbert, which I try not to remember. I must have a wonderful memory, for everything you said to me is as fresh now as though you had just spoken them. Yes, indeed. Perhaps it is because when we were on board ship I used to sit on the deck, with my face turned to Australia--the captain always pointed out the exact direction--and go through it all in my mind over and over and over again, till I got letter perfect. Shall I prove to you that it is really so? Well, then, when I told you I was afraid I was turning hard and had since Uncle Gilbert came to the plantation--the dear old plantation!--you chided me so gently and beautifully, and I promised never to forget your words, knowing they would keep me good. Then you said, 'Let them keep you brave as well, my dear. I promise to remember you always, to love you always, and perhaps when you are a woman--it will not be so long, Annette--we shall meet again.' Well, Basil dear, I am waiting for that time. I know it will not be yet, perhaps not for years, but I can wait patiently, and I shall always bear your words in mind. 'The stars of heaven are not brighter than the stars of hope and love we can keep shining in our hearts.' Do you remember, Basil? And then I asked you to kiss me, and said that was the seal and that I should go away happier. It comes to my mind sometimes that your words are like flowers that never die, and that grow sweeter and more beautiful every day. You could not have given me anything better to make me happy. But I must not keep going on like this or I shall not have time to tell you some things you ought to know.