Whenever you
wish it, I am ready to go."
"But why not to England?"
"I cannot tell you, mother."
She rose quickly, and passed into her own room and shut the door.
There she stood for a second or two, irresolute and breathless, like one
who had just escaped into a place of refuge. Then her eyes fell on her
writing desk, which was on a side-table, and open. Slowly, and with a
strange, pained expression about her mouth, she went and sat down, and
took out some writing materials, and absently and mechanically arranged
them before her. Her eyes were tearless, but once or twice she sighed
deeply. After a time she began to write with an unsteady hand:
"My Dearest,--You must let me send you a few lines of farewell; for it
would be hard if, in saying good-bye, one were not permitted to say a
kind word or two that could be remembered afterward. And your heart will
have already told you why it is not for you and me now to look forward
to the happiness that once seemed to lie before us. You know what a
terrible result has followed from my rashness; but then you are
free--that is something; for the rest, perhaps it is less misery to die,
than to live and know that you have caused another's death.
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