anxious to get back. He wrote to me last mail. It is
for me as senior partner to make my choice, and I have made it. I
wrote to-day to say that I preferred to stay on--"

The paper trembled in Vanna's hand; her lips lost their curves and
straightened into a thin red line. She shut her eyes for a moment
before she could see clearly to continue her reading:

"There! it is out. It is terrible to write it. I feel as if with the
writing I have cut myself off from the best and happiest years of my
life. For that is what it means, Vanna--the end! I have suffered
tortures this last year, fighting it out, arguing it over and over
again in my heart. I could not have borne it if it had not been for
your letters, and yet in a fashion they have added to my suffering.
If ever a man loved a woman, with his soul and strength, I have loved
you. I have waited eight years, and it would have seemed as a day if
there had been hope at the end. I would wait twenty years to gain you
in the end. But, Vanna, when hope is dead!... I am very sad, very
lonely; I miss you every hour, but I dare not come home to endure a
worse pain. The years are passing; my youth is over; I cannot face a
solitary age. Vanna, dearest, I promised you to be honest. I swore
it. I must keep my word. If the best is denied me, I must be content
with what I can have. There is a girl here--"

Vanna's arm dropped on to the table, the fluttering sheet fell from her
fingers, the dull, heavy thuds with which her heart had been beating for
the last few minutes seemed suddenly to cease. She lifted her hand to
her head, and brushed back her hair.

"A _girl_!" For one moment the room seemed to swim; consciousness
appeared about to desert her, the next _she_ was tinglingly alert,
devouring the remaining words with hot, smarting eyes.

"--The daughter of our Colonel. I have seen a good deal of her these
last months. She is not pretty, but she is sweet and kind, and has an
echo of _your_ charm. If I tried, I think I could love that girl.
_Vanna, I am going to try_!... Do you despise me? Do you think me a
faithless hound? Can you understand in the faintest degree that it is
just because you have shown me what love can mean that I cannot live
my life alone? Will you care to write to me still? I don't know; I
can't tell. I dare not think how you may feel. I, who longed above
all else in life to shield a