I sat down by the bed, in the great easy-chair which she had occupied when Lottie came in with the letter. A faint perfume of violets hung about the cushions, and on the seat lay the delicate handkerchief she had been using. It seemed only a moment since I had seen her resting tranquilly upon the seat that supported me. Could death be so cruelly sudden? I wept quietly as these thoughts filled my mind, and with them came vague conjectures regarding the letter which had apparently produced a result so fatal. Who had written that letter? What could the subject have been? Where was it now? I remembered that Mr. Lee had taken it mechanically from Mrs. Dennison's hand and put it in his pocket, evidently unconscious of its mysterious importance. Surely the woman could have nothing to fear from that letter; at any rate, she had held no part in its fatal delivery. Then who could have possessed the power to break the frail life which had been quenched? It was all a painful enigma, impossible to solve; but the great, mournful fact lay before me,--my friend--the best friend I had ever known on earth--was dead. CHAPTER LIV. MRS. LEE'S FUNERAL. As I sat buried in miserable thoughts, a faint stir in the bed draperies made me start and hold my breath. It was Lottie, who had been all the time crouching close to the floor, guarding the remains of her mistress in profound stillness. The light was so dim that I had not been aware of her presence till then. Such companionship did not disturb me; indeed, without the faithful girl that death-chamber would have been desolate indeed. "Lottie," I said, in a whisper,--"Lottie, is it you?" She was sitting on the floor, with both arms locked around her knees, on which her forehead rested. The girl looked up, and her heavy eyes met mine. "Yes, it's me, Miss Hyde; I haven't left her a minute since then," she said, drearily. "Don't ask me to go away--I couldn't do it." "Ask you to go away, Lottie? Oh! no, my poor girl! We have watched together in this room many a time; but never in this sad way." "I know it," she said; "you were always good to her, and she felt it. But tell me, Miss Hyde, do you think it was the letter I brought that laid her there?" "I cannot tell. Still it must have been, she was so well only a moment before it touched her hand. Who could have written it?" "I have been thinking and thinking, Miss Hyde. The writing was like Miss Jessie's; I thought so at the time." "Miss Jessie's? Are you sure?" "So it seemed to me; but I've got the envelope, look for yourself." I took the crumpled envelope which she took from her bosom and held toward me. It was of creamy-white paper, very thick, and with an inner lining of blue, a color that Jessie affected where it could be delicately introduced among her stationery. The writing was like hers, but with a slight appearance of disguise. "You see," said Lottie, still in a whisper, "it looks like Miss Jessie's; but what could she write to _her_ about?"