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Rh "Ah, now, how came you to think of him at once? But I have not the heart to disappoint those eager eyes—so take it;" and from a packet by her pillow she took the letter and gave it her.

Francesca felt choked—the tears rose—she tried to thank the Duchesse, but her voice was gone; she kissed her, by way of gratitude, and left the room—she could not bear to read the letter but by herself. Shutting herself in, she opened the scroll, and read it hastily to the end—then began it over again, but slowly this time, as if she feared to lose a word. Again she commenced it, but stopped suddenly; and the tears, which had hitherto only stood in her eyes, now dropped thick and fast upon the paper. There was something unsatisfactory in its contents—they were too brief and too abrupt; Guido said nothing of his own health, or his own feelings—and what did his sister care for else?—what to her were the Duke, the Duchess, or even Modena itself? nay, she felt very disrespectfully towards the Madonna, which he described as divine.

"How very unkind!" exclaimed she; "He knows how anxious I am about him, and he tells me nothing—he may be ill or well for aught he says about it." She turned the paper over to see if any little corner had escaped her notice, but she had