The second post was on the table, and the girl stopped short in the midst of a message from the seedsman, for a deep black-edged envelope, addressed to herself, caught her eye.  Mrs. Markham observed her with furtive anxiety.  It is terrible to watch the opening of a letter evidently containing sad tidings, yet she was hardly prepared to see Bluebell, after perusing it drop prone on the ground as though she were shot, her forehead striking against the table in the fall.  Ringing the bell, Mrs. Markham flew to her assistance, and, unfastening the collar of her dress, something was disclosed to view which gave that lady a second sensational shock, more thrilling than the first.  Hurriedly she closed the dress again, despatching for water a sympathetic servant who had just entered, then swiftly, dexterously, possessed herself of a ribbon encircling the girl’s throat, on which hung a wedding-ring.

Bluebell recovered only to fall from one fainting fit into another.  Her strength had been exhausted by the walk, and she had none to bear up against the shock that awaited her.  The letter was from Miss Opie, announcing Mrs. Leigh’s sudden death, after a few hours’ illness.  Inside, and unopened, was returned Bluebell’s private enclosure revealing her married name.

A year ago this child had been innocent of the existence of nerves, but, from the trying scenes she had lately gone through, they were now so shattered that she was unable to rally.  The doctor kept her in bed at first, recommended absolute quiet, and exhausted his formula with as beneficial a result as could be expected considering it attacked the secondary cause only, and was impotent to heal the suffering mind reacting upon the body.  Bluebell continued in a torpid condition, scarcely giving any signs of life.  One day, Mrs. Markham, who nursed her with unremitting zeal, quickened, perhaps, by the interest of her discovery, observed the patient’s hand steal to her neck, and then she glanced uneasily about, as if seeking for something.

They were alone, so Mrs. Markham whispered in a low, cautious tone, “I have it quite safe, locked up in my desk.  No one knows of it but myself.”  An apprehensive look dilated the large, sad eyes, succeeded by an expression of contented resignation.  She did not perceptibly improve, her mind was incessantly trying to realize what had happened, and was haunted by a morbid conviction that the anxiety induced by her own strange marriage might have precipitated the sad event, for Miss Opie’s letter did not soften the fact that Mrs. Leigh had fretted greatly about it.  Still she expressly said that she had succumbed to an epidemic that had already gleaned many victims.

It was, after all, many days before Mrs. Markham remembered the seeds she had been so anxious to obtain, but one favourable afternoon, she set diligently to work to lay the foundation for summer flowers.  Though the “even tenour” of her life did not afford much scope for its indulgence, this lady was not devoid of a certain spice of romance.  She was also of an independent character, and in the habit of judging for herself on most matters, and had decided not to betray Bluebell’s secret to her spouse.