that not one
of the dear familiar objects in the garden was visible when I looked
for them; such deep stillness that even my own movements about the room
almost frightened me! I tried to lie down and sleep, but the sense of
loneliness came again and quite overpowered me. You will say I am old
enough, at six-and-twenty, to have exerted more control over myself. I
hardly know how it happened, but I stole into Magdalen's room, just as
I used to steal into it years and years ago, when we were children. She
was not in bed; she was sitting with her writing materials before her,
thinking. I said I wanted to be with her the last night; and she kissed
me, and told me to lie down, and promised soon to follow me. My mind was
a little quieted and I fell asleep. It was daylight when I woke--and the
first sight I saw was Magdalen, still sitting in the chair, and still
thinking. She had never been to bed; she had not slept all through the
night.

"'I shall sleep when we have left Combe-Raven,' she said. 'I shall be
better when it is all over, and I have bid Frank good-by.' She had in
her hand our father's will, and the letter he wrote to you; and when she
had done speaking, she gave them into my possession. I was the eldest
(she said), and those last precious relics ought to be in my keeping.
I tried to propose to her that we should divide them; but she shook her
head. 'I have copied for myself,' was her answer, 'all that he says of
us in the will, and all that he says in the letter.' She told me this,
and took from her bosom a tiny white silk bag, which she had made in the
night, and in which she had put the extracts, so as to keep them always
about her. 'This tells me in his own words what his last wishes were for
both of us,' she said; 'and this is all I want for the future.'

"These are trifles to dwell on; and I am almost surprised at myself for
not feeling ashamed to trouble you with them. But, since I have known
what your early connection was with my father and mother, I have learned
to think of you (and, I suppose, to write to you) as an old friend. And,
besides, I have it so much at heart to change your opinion of Magdalen,
that I can't help telling you the smallest things about her which may,
in my judgment, end in making you think of her as I do.

"When breakfast-time came (on Thursday morning), we were surprised to
find a strange letter on the table. Perhaps I ought to mention it to
you, in case of any future necessity