Your friend from Ennis came here, and brought us the news of your uncle's death.

We were very sorry; at least I was certainly.

I liked to think of you a great deal better as my own Fred, than as a great lord.
But you will still be my own Fred always; will you not?
Mother said at once that it was a matter of course that you should go to England; but your friend, whose name we never heard, said that you had sent him especially to promise that you would write quite immediately, and that you would come back very soon.
I do not know what he will think of me, because I asked him whether he was quite, quite sure that you would come back.

If he thinks that I love you better than my own soul, he only thinks the truth.
Pray,--pray write at once.

Mother is getting vexed because there is no letter.