One o'clock, and two o'clock, still found her in the dark sombre parlour, every now and then pacing the floor of the room. The fire had gone out, and, though it was now the middle of April, she began to feel the cold. But she would not go to bed before she had written a line to Alice. To her brother a message by telegraph would of course be sent the next morning; as also would she send a message to her aunt. But to Alice she would write, though it might be but a line. Cold as she was, she found her pens and paper, and wrote her letter that night. It was very short. "Dear Alice, to-day I received your letter, and to-day our poor old grandfather died. Tell my uncle John, with my love, of his father's death. You will understand that I cannot write much now about that other matter; but I must tell you, even at such a moment as this, that there shall be no quarrel between you and me. There shall be none at least on my side. I cannot say more till a few days shall have passed by. He is lying up-stairs, a corpse. I have telegraphed to George, and I suppose he will come down. I think my aunt Greenow will come also, as I had written to her before, seeing that I wanted the comfort of having her here. Uncle John will of course come or not as he thinks fitting. I don't know whether I am in a position to say that I shall be glad to see him; but I should be very glad. He and you will know that I can, as yet, tell you nothing further. The lawyer is to see the men about the funeral. Nothing, I suppose, will be done till George comes. Your own cousin and friend, KATE VAVASOR." And then she added a line below, "My own Alice,--If you will let me, you shall be my sister, and be the nearest to me and the dearest."

One o'clock, and two o'clock, still found her in the sombre parlour. The fire had gone out, and she began to feel the cold. But she would not go to bed before she had written a line to Alice. To her brother, and her aunt, a message by telegraph would be sent the next morning. But to Alice she must write a line. Cold as she was, she found her pens and paper, and wrote:
"Dear Alice, today I received your letter, and today our poor old grandfather died. Tell my uncle John, with my love, of his father's death. You will understand that I cannot write much now about that other matter; but I must tell you, even at such a moment as this, that there shall be no quarrel between you and me. There shall be none at least on my side. I cannot say more till a few days shall have passed by. He is lying upstairs, a corpse. I have telegraphed to George, and I suppose he will come here. I think my aunt Greenow will come also, as I asked her earlier. Uncle John will of course come or not as he thinks fitting. I should be very glad to see him. The lawyer is to see about the funeral. Nothing, I suppose, will be done till George comes.
"Your own cousin and friend, Kate Vavasor."
And then she added a line below, "My own Alice, if you will let me, you shall be my sister, and be the nearest to me and the dearest."
