This letter was, as a matter
of necessity, confided to the care of Luke Gregory (never a chosen
depositary of mine in any way), who followed him to Savannah to receive
some parting instructions for the conduct of their work, and who was to
return to Lesdernier after the interval of a week.
In the ardor of my impulse, I could not slight an opportunity of so soon
receiving a reply to my somewhat startling and, I felt now,
too-long-delayed communication, and thus testing my lover's trust and
confidence in me. When Gregory returned to Beauseincourt, he assured me
he had delivered my letter punctually (I never doubted this, for he knew
the man he had to deal with), adding, carelessly, that it was well
Wentworth had said he would write soon, as he had been unfortunate
enough to lose the hastily-pencilled reply, with his own pocket-book, at
the Lenoir Landing, where both were food for fishes.
My disappointment was extreme, and many weeks of constrained silence
passed before I received the promised letter from Captain Wentworth--so
gloomy, so incomprehensible, so portentous, that it filled me with
despair. In this letter he spoke of obstacles between us--in which blood
bore part--of the wreck of all earthly happiness for him--perchance for
me. Yet he conjured me to be calm and patient, as he could not be, and
alluded to my silence as conclusive of his misery.
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