It was Diana's.

Then while her fingers eagerly tore it open, her heart, the champion rider over-night, sank.

It needed support of facts, and feared them: not in distrust of that dear persecuted soul, but because the very bravest of hearts is of its nature a shivering defender, sensitive in the presence of any hostile array, much craving for material support, until the mind and spirit displace it, depute it to second them instead of leading.
She read by a dull November fog-light a mixture of the dreadful and the comforting, and dwelt upon the latter in abandonment, hugged it, though conscious of evil and the little that there was to veritably console.
The close of the letter struck the blow.

After bluntly stating that Mr.
Warwick had served her with a process, and that he had no case without suborning witnesses, Diana said: 'But I leave the case, and him, to the world.

Ireland, or else America, it is a guiltless kind of suicide to bury myself abroad.