"And, when that's done, what then?
"Then, Mr. Franklin, I shall have two reasons for making another attempt
to say the words to you which I have not said yet. If you leave the
house, as Penelope believes you will leave it, and if I haven't spoken
to you before that, I shall lose my opportunity forever. That is one
reason. Then, again, there is the comforting knowledge--if my speaking
does make you angry--that I have got the nightgown ready to plead my
cause for me as nothing else can. That is my other reason. If these two
together don't harden my heart against the coldness which has hitherto
frozen it up (I mean the coldness of your treatment of me), there will
be the end of my efforts--and the end of my life.
"Yes. If I miss my next opportunity--if you are as cruel as ever, and if
I feel it again as I have felt it already--good-bye to the world which
has grudged me the happiness that it gives to others. Good-bye to life,
which nothing but a little kindness from you can ever make pleasurable
to me again. Don't blame yourself, sir, if it ends in this way. But
try--do try--to feel some forgiving sorrow for me! I shall take care
that you find out what I have done for you, when I am past telling you
of it myself. Will you say something kind of me then--in the same gentle
way that you have when you speak to Miss Rachel? If you do that, and if
there are such things as ghosts, I believe my ghost will hear it, and
tremble with the pleasure of it.
"It's time I left off. I am making myself cry. How am I to see my way to
the hiding-place if I let these useless tears come and blind me?
"Besides, why should I look at the gloomy side? Why not believe, while
I can, that it will end well after all? I may find you in a good humour
to-night--or, if not, I may succeed better to-morrow morning. I sha'n't
improve my plain face by fretting--shall I? Who knows but I may have
filled all these weary long pages of paper for nothing? They will
go, for safety's sake (never mind now for what other reason) into the
hiding-place along with the nightgown. It has been hard, hard work
writing my letter. Oh! if we only end in understanding each other, how I
shall enjoy tearing it up!
"I beg to remain, sir, your true lover and humble servant, "ROSANNA SPEARMAN."
The reading of the letter was completed by Betteredge in silence. After
carefully putting it back in the envelope, he sat thinking, with his
head bowed down, and his eyes on the ground.
"Betteredge," I said, "is there any hint to guide me at the end of the
letter?"