Chapter 15 AN ENIGMATICAL LETTER.

'Tis Spring, bright Spring, and bluebirds sing.

I was monarch supreme in my cloudland.

I was master of fate in that proud land;

I would not endure

That a grief without cure,

A love that could end,

Or a false hearted friend,

Should dwell for an instant in cloudland.

Mackay.

Nothing but rain, pouring rain, for the next few