In the afternoon, there is our drive. What handsome houses we see, what fine places we pass by! How often I occupy myself with thinking what I should do if I only had them, and the money they represent! And how hard the sight of them makes the past appear! How little, falling to _our_ share, would make the future smiling and happy! "The girls are not interesting companions to Mr. Creswell. He is fond of them, and very kind to them--in fact, lavishly generous--they never have an ungratified wish; but how can a man, whose whole life has been devoted to business, feel much companionship with young girls like them, who do not know what it means? Of course, they think and talk about their dead parents--at least, I suppose so--and their past lives, and neither subject has any charms for their uncle. They read--especially Maude--and, strange to say, they read solid books as well as novels; they excel in fancy-work, which I detest, probably because I can't do it, and could not afford to buy the materials if I understood the art; and they both play and sing. I have heard very little good music, and I am not a judge, except of what is pleasing to myself; but I think I am correct in rating Maude's musical abilities very highly. Her voice thrills me almost to pain, and to see my mother's quiet tears when Maude plays to her in the dim evening is to feel that the power of producing such salutary healing emotion is priceless indeed. What a pity it is I am not a good musician! Loving music as you love it, dearest Walter, it will be a privation to you--if ever that time we talked of comes, when we should have a decent home to share--that I shall not be able to make sweet music for you. They are not fond of me, but I did not think they would be, and I am not disappointed. I like them, but they are too young, too happy, and _too rich_ for me not to envy them a little, and though love and jealousy may coexist, love and envy cannot. "In all this long letter, my own Walter, I have said nothing of _you_. You understand why. I _dare_ not. I dare not give utterance to the discouragement which your last vague letter caused me, lest such discouragement should infect you, and by lowering your spirits weaken your efforts. Under these circumstances, and until I hear from you more decisively, I will say nothing, but strive and hope! On my side, there is little striving possible, and I dare not tell you how little hope. "Your own "MARIAN."