ed horrible cruelty to read me that part; I knew
that if mother or Miriam ever heard of it, it would kill them. So I
begged Mrs. Mitchell never to let them hear of it. She seemed to think
nothing of the pain it would inflict; how could she help telling if
they asked? she said. I told her I must insist on her not mentioning
it; it would only add suffering to what was already insupportable; if
they asked for the letter, offer to read it aloud, but say positively
that she would not allow any one to touch it except herself, and then
she might pass it over in silence. I roused Miriam then and sent her to
hear it read. She insisted on reading it herself, and half dead with
grief held out her hands, begging piteously to be suffered to read it
alone. I watched then until I was sure Mrs. Mitchell would keep her
promise. Horrible as I knew it to be from strange lips, I knew by what
I experienced that I had saved her from a shock that might cost her her
life; and then I went back to mother.

No need to conceal what I felt there! She neither spoke nor saw. If I
had shrieked that he died of ill treatment, she would not have
understood. But I sat there silently with that horrible secret,
wondering if God would help me bear it, or if despair would deprive me
of self-control and force me presently to cry it aloud, though it
should kill them both.

At last Brother came. I had to meet him downstairs and tell him. God
spare me the sight of a strong man's grief! Then Sister came in,
knowing as little as he. Poor Sister! I could have blessed her for
every tear she shed. It was a comfort to see some one who had life or
feeling left. I felt as though the whole world was dead. Nothing was
real, nothing existed except horrible speechless pain. Life was a
fearful dream through which but one thought ran--"Dead--Dead!"

Miriam had been taken to her room more dead than alive--Mother lay
speechless in hers. The shock of this second blow had obliterated, with
them, all recollection of the first. It was a mercy I envied them; for
I remembered both, until loss of consciousness would have seemed a
blessing. I shall never forget mother's shriek of horror when towards
evening she recalled it. O those dreadful days of misery and
wretchedness! It seems almost sacrilege to refer to them now. They are
buried in our hearts with our boys--thought of with prayers and tears.

How will the world seem to us now? What will life be without the boys?
When this ter