Ah, how I wish I might see you once again; how that I might feel your hand upon my brow, and hear your words of hope and encouragement! But happiness is now debarred from me, and I am only sinking to the grave under this slow torture of body and of soul.
"This will pass through many hands before it reaches the post.

If, however, it ever does get despatched and you receive it, will you do me one last favor--a favor to an unfortunate girl who is friendless and helpless, and who will no longer trouble the world?
It is this: Take this letter to London, and call upon Mr.Martin Woodroffe at 98 Cork Street, Piccadilly.

Show him my letter, and tell him from me that through it all I have kept my promise, and that the secret is still safe.

He will understand--and also know why I cannot write this with my own hand.

If he is abroad, keep it until he returns.
"It is all I ask of you, Lydia, and I know that if this reaches you, you will not refuse me.