This one she did.

She smiled over it, all beaming and blushing; she kissed it, and read it again, and sat with it in her lap.
But by and by her mood changed, and, when Mr.Hazel ventured upon deck again, he found her with her forehead sinking on her extended arm, and the lax hand of that same arm holding the letter.

She was crying.
The whole drooping attitude was so lovely, so feminine, yet so sad, that Hazel stood irresolute, looking wistfully at her.
She caught sight of him, and, by a natural impulse, turned gently away, as if to hide her tears.

But the next moment she altered her mind, and said, with a quiet dignity that came naturally to her at times, "Why should I hide my care from you, sir?
Mr.Hazel, may I speak to you _as a clergyman ?"_ "Certainly," said Mr.Hazel, in a somewhat faint voice.
She pointed to a seat, and he sat down near her.
She was silent for some time; her lip quivered a little; she was struggling inwardly for that decent composure which on certain occasions distinguishes the lady from the mere woman; and it was with a pretty firm voice she said what follows: "I am going to tell you a little secret; one I have kept from my own father.

It is--that I have not very long to live." Her hazel eye rested calmly on his face while she said these words quietly.
He received them with amazement at first; amazement that soon deepened into horror.