"Assuredly," replied the fashionable preacher, who during this colloquy had gradually drawn his chair closer to that of the young maiden. "The gentleman, to whom I have before alluded, called upon me yesterday. It appears he learnt from the policeman that you had been educated at the school in my district, and that my housekeeper was well acquainted with you. He nobly offered to contribute a sum of money towards settling you in some comfortable manner."
"The generous stranger!" exclaimed Kate. "What is his name, sir—that I may pray for him?"
"Markham!" cried the young girl, strangely excited by the mention of that name.
"Yes. Have you ever heard of him before?" asked the rector, surprised at the impression thus produced.
Katherine appeared to reflect profoundly for some moments; then, opening a secret drawer of her work-box, she drew forth a small satin bag, carefully sewed all round.
She took her scissors and unpicked the thread from one end of the bag.
The rector watched her attentively, and with as much surprise as interest.
Having thus opened one extremity of the bag, she inserted her delicate fingers, and produced a sheet of letter-paper, folded, and dingy with age.
Handing it to the rector, she observed, with tears streaming down her cheeks, "These were the last words my mother ever wrote; and she had lost the use of her speech ere she penned them."
Reginald Tracy unfolded the letter, and read as follows:——
"Should my own gloomy presages prove true, and the warning of my medical attendant be well founded,—if, in a word, the hand of Death be already extended to snatch me away thus in the prime of life, while my darling child is * * * * and inform Mr. Markham, whose abode is——"
The words that originally stood in the place which we have marked with asterisks, had evidently been blotted out by the tears of the writer.
Reginald folded the letter as he had received it, and returned it to Katherine.
The young girl immediately replaced it in the little bag, which she sewed up with scrupulous care.
It was the poor creature's sole treasure; and she prized it as the last and only memento that she possessed of her mother.
"And you know not to whom that unfinished letter alluded?" said the rector, after a long pause, during which the bag, with its precious contents, had been consigned once more to the secret drawer in the work-box.