Dear Statira,--You must not be troubled, at what Amanda said to me. I assure you that, although I was angry at first, I am entirely willing to overlook it at your request. She probably spoke hastily, and I am now convinced that she spoke without your authority. You must not think that I am provoked at you. “I received your letter this evening; and I will come to see you very soon. Lemuel Barker.” The letter was colder than he meant to make it, but he felt that he must above all be honest, and he did not see how he could honestly make it less cold. When it came to Statira's hands she read it silently to herself, over and over again, while her tears dripped upon it. 'Manda Grier was by, and she watched her till she could bear the sight no longer. She snatched the letter from the girl's hands and ran it through, and then she flung it on the ground. “Nasty, cold-hearted, stuck-up, shameless thing!” “Oh, don't, 'Manda; don't, 'Manda!” sobbed Statira, and she plunged her face into the pillows of the bed, where she sat. “Shameless, cold-hearted, stuck-up, nasty thing!” said 'Manda Grier, varying her denunciation in the repetition, and apparently getting fresh satisfaction out of it in that way. “Don't? St'ira Dudley, if you was a woman--if you was _half_ a woman--you'd never speak to that little corpse-on-ice again.” “O 'Manda, don't call him names-! I can't bear to have you!” “Names? If you was anybody at all, you wouldn't look at him! You wouldn't _think_ of him!” “O 'Manda, 'Manda! You know I can't let you talk so,” moaned Statira. “Talk? I could talk my _head_ off! 'You must not think I was provoked with you,'” she mimicked Lemuel's dignity of diction in mincing falsetto. “'I will come to see you very soon.' Miserable, worthless, conceited whipper-snapper!” “O 'Manda, you'll break my heart if you go on so!” “Well, then, give him up! He's goin' to give you up.” “Oh, he ain't; you know he ain't! He's just busy, and I know he'll come. I'll bet you he'll be here to-morrow. It'll kill me to give him up.” She had lifted herself from the pillow, and she began to cough. “He'll kill you anyway,” cried 'Manda Grier, in a passion of pity and remorse. She ran across the room to get the medicine which Statira had to take in these paroxysms. “There, there! Take it! I sha'n't say anything more about him.” “And do you take it all back?” gasped Statira, holding the proffered spoon away. “Yes, yes! But do take your med'cine, St'ira, 'f you don't want to die where you set.” “And do you think he'll come?” “Yes, he'll come.” “Do you say it just to get me to take the medicine?” “No, I really do believe he'll come.” “O 'Manda, 'Manda!” Statira took her medicine, and then wildly flung her arms round 'Manda Grier's neck, and began to sob and to cry there. “Oh, how hard I am with you, Manda! I should think if I was as hard with everybody else, they'd perfectly hate me.” “You hard!” “Yes, and that's why he hate me. He does hate me. You said he did.”