he envelope open, and languidly
throw my eyes along the lines. But, before I have read three words, my
languor suddenly disappears. I sit upright in my chair, grasp the paper
more firmly, bring it nearer my eyes, which begin greedily to gallop
through its contents. They are not very long, and in two minutes I have
mastered them.

"MY DEAREST NANCY:

"I have _such_ a piece of news for you! I cannot help laughing as I
picture to myself your face of delight; I would make you guess it,
only I cannot bear to keep you in suspense. _It has all come right!
I am going to marry Frank, after all!_ What _have_ I done to
deserve such luck! How can I ever thank God enough for it? Do you
know that my very first thought, when he asked me, was, '_How_
pleased Nancy will be!' You dear little soul! I think, when he went
away that time from Tempest, that you took all the blame of it to
yourself! O Nancy, do you think it is wrong to be so _dreadfully_
happy? Sometimes I am afraid that I love him _too_ much! it seems
so hard to help it. I have no time for more now; he is waiting for
me; how little I thought, a month ago, that I should be ending a
letter to you for such a reason! When all is said and done, what a
pleasant world it is! Do not think me quite mad. I know I _sound_
as if I were!

"Yours, BARBARA."

My hand, and the letter with it, fall together into my lap; my head
sinks back on the cushion of my chair; my eyes peruse the ceiling.

"Engaged to Musgrave! engaged to Musgrave! engaged to Musgrave!"

The words ring with a dull monotony of repetition through my brain. Poor
Barbara! I think she would be surprised if she were to see my "_face of
delight!_"

CHAPTER XL.

My eyes are fixed on the mouldings of the ceiling, while a jumble of
thoughts mix and muddle themselves in my head. Was Brindley Wood a
dream? or is this a dream? Surely one or other must be, and, if this is
not a dream, what is it? Is it reality, is it truth? And, if it is, how
on earth did any thing so monstrous ever come about? How did he dare to
approach her? How could he know that I had not told her? Is it possible
that he cares for her really?--that he cared for her all along?--that he
only went mad for one wicked moment? Is he sorry? how soon shall I have
to meet him? On what terms shall we be? Will Roger be undeceived at
last? Will he believe me? As my thoughts