For nine successive mornings, Catherine wondered over the repetition of a disappointment, which each morning became more severe: but, on the tenth, when she entered the breakfast room, her first object was a letter, held out by Henry’s willing hand. She thanked him as heartily as if he had written it himself. “ ’Tis only from James, however,” as she looked at the direction. She opened it; it was from Oxford; and to this purpose: