"Since I saw you, Hugh, I have been through the Valley of the
Shadow. I have thought of many things. One truth alone is clear--
that I love you transcendently.. You have touched and awakened me
into life. I walk in a world unknown.

"There is the glory of martyrdom in this message I send you now.
You must not come to me again until I send for you. I cannot, I
will not trust myself or you. I will keep this love which has come
to me undefiled. It has brought with it to me a new spirit, a
spirit with a scorn for things base and mean. Though it were my
last chance in life, I would not see you if you came. If I thought
you would not understand what I feel, I could not love you as I do.

"I will write to you again, when I see my way more clearly. I told
you in the garden before you spoke that I was going away. Do not
seek to know my plans. For the sake of the years to come, obey me.

"HONORA."

She reread the letter, and sealed it. A new and different exaltation
had come to her--begotten, perhaps, in the act of writing. A new courage
filled her, and now she contemplated the ordeal with a tranquillity that
surprised her. The disorder and chaos of the night were passed, and she
welcomed the coming day, and those that were to follow it. As though the
fates were inclined to humour her impatience, there was a telegram
on her breakfast tray, dated at New York, and informing her that her
husband would be in Newport about the middle of the afternoon. His
western trip was finished a day earlier than he expected. Honora rang
her bell.

"Mathilde, I am going away."

"Oui, madame."

"And I should like you to go with me."

"Oui, madame."

"It is only fair that you should understand, Mathilde. I am going away
alone. I am not--coming back."

The maid's eyes filled with sudden tears.

"Oh, madame," she cried, in a burst of loyalty, "if madame will permit
me to stay with her!"

Honora was troubled, but her strange calmness did not forsake her. The
morning was spent in packing, which was a simple matter. She took only
such things as she needed, and left her dinner-gowns hanging in the
closets. A few precious books of her own she chose, but the jewellery
her husband had given her was put in boxes and laid upon the
dressing-table. In one of these boxes was her wedding ring. When
luncheon was over, an astonished and perturbed butler packed the
Leffingwell silver and sent i