ll have the still greater goodness of
going yourself into my bedroom, and bringing me the small inlaid box
which you will find on the upper shelf of the closet."

Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did as she was
desired. The box was brought and placed before her, and Mrs Smith,
sighing over it as she unlocked it, said--

"This is full of papers belonging to him, to my husband; a small
portion only of what I had to look over when I lost him. The letter I
am looking for was one written by Mr Elliot to him before our marriage,
and happened to be saved; why, one can hardly imagine. But he was
careless and immethodical, like other men, about those things; and when
I came to examine his papers, I found it with others still more
trivial, from different people scattered here and there, while many
letters and memorandums of real importance had been destroyed. Here it
is; I would not burn it, because being even then very little satisfied
with Mr Elliot, I was determined to preserve every document of former
intimacy. I have now another motive for being glad that I can produce
it."

This was the letter, directed to "Charles Smith, Esq. Tunbridge Wells,"
and dated from London, as far back as July, 1803:--

"Dear Smith,--I have received yours. Your kindness almost overpowers
me. I wish nature had made such hearts as yours more common, but I
have lived three-and-twenty years in the world, and have seen none like
it. At present, believe me, I have no need of your services, being in
cash again. Give me joy: I have got rid of Sir Walter and Miss. They
are gone back to Kellynch, and almost made me swear to visit them this
summer; but my first visit to Kellynch will be with a surveyor, to tell
me how to bring it with best advantage to the hammer. The baronet,
nevertheless, is not unlikely to marry again; he is quite fool enough.
If he does, however, they will leave me in peace, which may be a decent
equivalent for the reversion. He is worse than last year.

"I wish I had any name but Elliot. I am sick of it. The name of
Walter I can drop, thank God! and I desire you will never insult me
with my second W. again, meaning, for the rest of my life, to be only
yours truly,--Wm. Elliot."

Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in a glow; and Mrs
Smith, observing the high colour in her face, said--

"The language, I know, is highly disrespectful. Though I have forgot
the exact terms, I have