Well, the letter had to stand; she had no second sheet of note-paper, and she had no more time, for the weary eyes and hands must get their rest for to-morrow's toil.

She closed the envelope and addressed it; then, the ink being dry, she put the written name just for an instant to her lips.

Totty could not divine that, and it was not so great a wrong.

Perhaps Lydia would not have done it, but that the great burden upon her was for the moment lightened, and she longed to tell someone how thankful she was.
Would he reply by letter?
Or would he make an opportunity of seeing her?
Since the forming of that sudden intimacy under the pressure of misery, he and she had not seen each other often.

They always spoke if they met, and Lydia was very grateful to him for the invariable kindness of his voice and his look, but of course it was not to be expected, not to be desired, that they should sustain the habit of conversing together as close friends.