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Updated: May 13, 2025
I shut the garret-door; I placed my light on a doddered and mouldy chest of drawers; I put on a shawl, for the air was ice-cold; I took my letter; trembling with sweet impatience, I broke its seal. "Will it be long will it be short?" thought I, passing my hand across my eyes to dissipate the silvery dimness of a suave, south-wind shower. It was long. "Will it be cool? will it be kind?"
Lo! when I reached the garret-door, all within was dark as a pit: the light was out. Happily some one Madame, I think, with her usual calm sense had brought a lamp from the room; speedily, therefore, as they came up, a ray pierced the opaque blackness. There stood the bougie quenched on the drawers; but where was the letter? And I looked for that now, and not for the nun. "My letter! my letter!"
Esther, conscious of being an angel of deliverance, tried to take the last two steps at once, tripped and tumbled ignominiously against the garret-door, which flew back and let her fall into the room with a crash.
To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. As he was about to descend his chains slightly rattled. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room.
"If my papa had lived," she said, "they would not have treated me like this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me." Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. Can you imagine it can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it myself.
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