_Mi dere Madlin,--This comes from uncle Luke, hopping you are quite wel and a good gel which it leaves me at present. I be ni art-broke far away from you and mother working on the river down alonger mi cussin Joss don’t kry cos I brung you to London but be a good gel and give my umble respecs to Mister wite mi dere Madlin mi dere Madlin there be no bargis in thes parts and neer a brethren but aples be pourful big and I wish you see the aple-tree in cussin Joss his garding with luv & kisses & hopping you are a good gel & my humble respecks to mister wito good bi at present I am ever fecksonit uncle luke peartree._ _P.S. Be a good gel & don’t kri cos I brung you._ Many and many a burning kiss did Madeline press on this simple epistle. She wetted it with her most tender tears, and placed it beneath her pillow at night, and carried it about all day in her bosom, to be kissed and kissed yet again. With a certain intuitive shame, she did not show it to any member of the De Berny family, whose fault was a snobbishness characteristic of shabby gentility, but she fearlessly confided in Mr. White and let him read it through. He was touched by its simple affection, penetrating through the rude orthography to the staunch and loving soul of the writer; and he encouraged the girl to talk to him of Uncle Luke and all her lowly friends. ‘Those who did not know him,’ he thought, as he listened to her eager words and watched her flushed face, ‘called poor Fred callous. It’s a lie! He had a noble heart, and so, thank God, has his little child!’ CHAPTER X.--A TELEGRAPHIC THUNDERBOLT. But only a few days later, as White sat alone in the studio working at the scenario of a new play, the door was thrown open and in rushed Madeline. Her hair was dishevelled, her dress disordered, her whole face distorted with passion. Before he had time to speak she threw herself on a sofa and burst into an agony of tears. ‘Madeline!’ he cried, bending over her, ‘what is the matter? Why are you not at school?’ For a time there was no answer, but at last, between the sobs, the girl spoke-- ‘Oh! take me home; let me go back to Grayfleet!’ White took her hand softly, and spoke to her soothingly, but his gentleness only made her worse. At last he yielded to his irritation and insisted on an explanation. Drying her eyes she sat up and looked at him, and he was startled by the white determination in her delicate face. ‘Why are you not at school?’ he repeated. ‘Because I’ve left, and I’ll never go back to school again.’ ‘Madeline!’ ‘It’s true, and I want to go home, I won’t stay here, and I won’t go back to school.’ ‘But what has happened?7 Madeline gave a wild hysterical laugh, and her face assumed an expression of exultation. ‘I struck her in the face, Mr. White, and I pulled down her hair, and when she saw I was angry she was frightened and screamed. If I had been stronger, I would have killed her--I would! I would!’