ck, and very black
handwriting. She had received two or three notes from him, and in spite
of their friendship had tossed them indifferently away as soon as read.
But that was before their luncheon together at the Rochers Rouges. Since
then he had not written. Mary wished now that she had kept his letters,
and her heart was heavy with remorse because she had thought very seldom
about him since her need of his sympathy no longer existed. How selfish
and cruel she had been!

The girl made a sudden movement as if to break the seal pressed by
Hannaford's ring, but paused, and taking a hatpin from her hat carefully
cut the envelope across the top. Pulling out the folded sheet of paper
she turned away even from Vanno, making an excuse that she must have
more light.

My One Friend [Hannaford's letter began]: You have many friends,
and that is as it should be, but I have only one human being dear
enough to be called by the good name of "friend": _You._ And that's
why I am writing you now. There's nobody else I care to write to;
but somehow I want you to know that I haven't got a very long lease
of life. Doctors tell me this. My heart isn't much good for the
ordinary everyday uses a man wants to put his heart to, and soon it
may decide to strike work. I feel sure this verdict is a true one,
but I wouldn't bother you with my presentiments if it weren't for a
certain thing which concerns your future. I may wake up dead--as
the Irishman remarked--any morning, and I want you to have whatever
is mine to leave behind me. You mustn't object to this, for it's
the one thought that gives me pleasure; and honestly there's no one
else to whom I can bequeath my worldly goods. All I have worth
giving is the Chateau Lontana and just enough money to make it
habitable. I am writing this letter there, on the loggia I told you
about. I used to wish it could be arranged for you to come and see
my big new toy. I was pretty sure you would like it, for I
felt--though you never told me so--that you cared a great deal for
beautiful and romantic things.

The Chateau Lontana in its poetic wilderness of garden is both
romantic and beautiful. You could never manage to come; but that
doesn't matter now, if I may think of you there when the place is
yours. Of course I may hang on in this weary vale for years, but I
hope not, because