But I missed the letters directly after she
was gone, and I hadn't left the room--except to call her. No one had been
in--not unless they slipped in in those few minutes while me back was
turned. And for what should anyone take such a thing as them letters,
Miss Dinah? There are no thieves in the house. And them love-letters were
worth nothing to nobody saving to Miss Isabel, and they were the very
breath of life to her when the black mood was on her. Whatever she'll
say--whatever she'll do--I don't dare to think."
Poor Biddy flourished her apron as though she would throw it over her
head. Her parchment face was working painfully.
Dinah sat on the edge of her bed and watched her, not knowing what to
say.
"Where is Miss Isabel?" she asked at last.
"She's still downstairs with Master Scott, and I'm expecting her up every
minute. It's herself that ought to be in bed by now, for she's tired out
after her long day; but he'll be bringing her up directly and then she'll
ask for her love-letters. There's never a night goes by but what she
kisses them before she lies down. When ye were ill, Miss Dinah dear,
she'd forget sometimes, but ever since she's been alone again she's never
missed, not once."
"Have you told Master Scott?" asked Dinah.
Biddy shook her head. "Would I add to his burdens, poor young gentleman?
He'll know soon enough."
"And are you sure you've looked everywhere--everywhere?" insisted Dinah.
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