“Mistrust, above all, M. Thomas Elgin.”
This last recommendation caused Henrietta particular trouble, and made
her feel all kinds of vague and terrible apprehensions.
“Why should I mistrust him,” she said to herself, “more than the
others?”
But a more pleasing anxiety soon came to her assistance. What? Here
was an opportunity to send Daniel news promptly and safely, and she was
running the risk, by her delays, of losing the chance? She hastened to
dress; and, sitting down before her little writing-table, she went to
work communicating to her only friend on earth all her sufferings since
he had so suddenly left her, her griefs, her resentments, her hopes.
It was eleven o’clock when she had finished, having filled eight large
pages with all she felt in her heart. As she was about to rise, she
suddenly felt ill. Her knees gave way under her, and she felt as if
every thing was trembling around her. What could this mean? she thought.
And now only she remembered that she had eaten nothing since the day
before.
“I must not starve myself,” she said almost merrily to herself. Her long
chat with Daniel had evidently rekindled her hopes.