And she drearily
wondered on how many, many nights she would have to wind it up and
speculate in ignorance what he, her lover, was doing and in what corner
of the world, before the end of her days was reached. What would become
of her? she asked. And she raised the corner of a curtain and glanced at
the bright picture of what might have been. And glancing at it, the
demand for happiness raised her in revolt.
She lit her candle and wrote another letter, of the shortest. It
contained but these few words:
"Oh, please forgive me! Come back and forgive. Oh, you must!--SYLVIA."
And having written them, Sylvia stole quietly down-stairs, let herself
out at the door and posted them.
Two nights afterward she leaned out of her window at midnight, wondering
whether by the morrow's post she would receive an answer to her message.
And while she wondered she understood that the answer would not come that
way. For suddenly in the moonlit road beneath her, she saw standing the
one who was to send it. Chayne had brought his answer himself. For a
moment she distrusted her own eyes, believing that her thoughts had
raised this phantom to delude her. But the figure in the road moved
beneath her window and she heard his voice call to her:
"Sylvia! Sylvia!"
CHAPTER XIX
THE SHADOW IN THE ROOM
Sylvia raised her hand suddenly, enjoining silence, and turned back into
the room.
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