has died at last. We found her here, in this hotel. She had been ill for a day or two, but nobody thought anything of it. She had the Roman fever last winter and has never been well since. What makes it worse is that Professor Balloure is away. He has gone with a party of scientific men into Russia. They say he has not been with her half the time since they came abroad, and that the poor thing has been quite broken—has just sat still patiently wherever he left her till he saw fit to come back. Oh, I 've no patience with that man! Well, she died last night, and nobody knows where to telegraph to him. Her maid is a stupid thing, and does n't seem to know anything. We can't find the professor's address anywhere among her papers, and so Fred is seeing to everything, and we 've actually got to bury the poor soul to-morrow. Is n't it the strangest thing you ever heard of, that we should have come way out to this outlandish spot, to bury this townswoman of ours,—and, a woman we always hated so, too? Poor thing, what a life she has led of it. And oh, have n't you had an escape! I declare, the second thing I thought of was, how glad I am Sue 's married all safe. I never could have stood your marrying Edward Balloure."
The letter ended abruptly, giving no more details, and, to Susan's great relief, no more comment on Professor Balloure. To Sue's loyal, loving, wedded heart there was something inexpressibly shocking
