Honor took up her letter, and, as is the frequent habit of people whose correspondence is scanty, and with whom time is _not_ money, she examined its exterior with a prolonged and minute investigation. The postmark was London, and the handwriting, at least so Honor conjectured, was a woman’s. She had no idea, not the very slightest, from whom the big, and yet unbill-like, epistle came; and it was probably that very ignorance which made her loth, in that presence at least, to open the envelope and set conjecture at rest. But though reluctant, open it she was well aware she _must_. The moral pressure of two pairs of eyes--for John, I regret to say, did not prove himself on this occasion to be deficient in the so-called feminine vice of curiosity--was upon her; and therefore with a hand that trembled a little (for Mrs. John’s nerves were, as I have before hinted, none of the strongest) she proceeded to open the despatch. The first words that it contained which caught her eye was the signature, “Elizabeth Norcott,” in large letters at the bottom of the page; and the sight was not calculated to make her read with greater composure the following lines: “MY DEAR MRS. BEACHAM,--I write these few hurried lines in your father’s name, and at his request; for he is, I regret to say, very far from well, and utterly unable to write himself. A severe cold, which the doctors fear has settled on his lungs, is your dear father’s ailment; and it is one that makes him very low, poor fellow, indeed. It would be a great pleasure to him, and indeed to me as well, if you could make it convenient to pay us a short visit just now. Of course, if your good husband objects, we can say no more; though I must say that _I_ think Mr. Beacham owes your poor father some compensation for all he went through last year. I have engaged a very nice bedroom, clean, though small, for you, on the third floor; for I feel sure that unless detained by some of the troubles that married women have to go through, we shall have the pleasure of seeing you without delay in Stanwick-street. If you will write me the train you intend coming by, I will be at the terminus to meet you; and I beg to remain, dear Mrs. Beacham, “Yours sincerely, “ELIZABETH NORCOTT. “You see I have heard everything from the Colonel. We both think it right for married people to be confidential.” * * * * * Honor’s first thought, as she finished the hasty perusal of this singular epistle, was one of joy. Joy that at last, and after so long a time of weary waiting, relations with her own “family” (poor, foolish Honor!) were renewed; and the hope held out that something might come--something agreeable to herself--of the _dénouement_ from which she had for a time hoped so much.