'
'His letters?'
'Yes.'
He took her hand gently. 'I had no idea I was intruding on you,
at a time when you must wish to be alone. Forgive me, Agnes--I shall
see you when I return.'
She signed to him, with a faint smile, to take a chair.
'We have known one another since we were children,' she said.
'Why should I feel a foolish pride about myself in your presence? why
should I have any secrets from you? I sent back all your brother's
gifts to me some time ago. I have been advised to do more, to keep
nothing that can remind me of him--in short, to burn his letters.
I have taken the advice; but I own I shrank a little from destroying
the last of the letters. No--not because it was the last,
but because it had this in it.' She opened her hand, and showed
him a lock of Montbarry's hair, tied with a morsel of golden cord.
'Well! well! let it go with the rest.'
She dropped it into the flame. For a while, she stood with her back
to Henry, leaning on the mantel-piece, and looking into the fire.
He took the chair to which she had pointed, with a strange
contradiction of expression in his face: the tears were in his eyes,
while the brows above were knit close in an angry frown.
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