There was another letter written in a totally altered hand, where the
characters crossed and mingled on the page, as if traced in the dark,
which said:--
"Raphael, I must say one word more--to-morrow, perhaps, I could not.
When I am dead, oh, do not die! I shall watch over you from above; I
shall be good and powerful, as the loving God, to whom I shall be
united, is good and powerful. After me, you must love again.... God
will send you another sister, who will be, moreover, the pious helpmate
of your life.... I will myself ask it of him.... Fear not to grieve my
soul, Raphael!... I--could I be jealous in heaven of your happiness?...
I feel better now I have said this. Alain will forward these lines to
you, and a lock of my hair.... I am going to sleep."...
One letter more, almost illegible, contained only these interrupted
lines: "Raphael! Raphael! where are you? I have had strength to get out
of bed.... I have told the nurse that I wished to be left alone to
rest. I have dragged myself along to the table, where I am writing by
the light of the lamp.... But I can see no more; ...my eyes swim in
darkness; ... black spots flit across the paper; ... Raphael! I can no
longer write.... Oh, one word more!"...
Then, in large letters, like those of a child trying to write for the
first time, there are two words which occupy a whole line, filling the
bottom of the page. "Farewell, Raphael!"