t--on my honour, Gordy--ever
have held or wished to hold, or ever will hold in marriage or out of
marriage, any woman who does not love me, so I do not think it is acting
as I would resent others acting towards me, to take away from such
unhappiness this lady for whom I would die at any minute. I do not mean
to say that pity has anything to do with it--I thought so at first, but I
know now that it is all swallowed up in the most mighty feeling I have
ever had or ever shall have. I am not a bit afraid of conscience. If God
is Universal Truth, He cannot look hardly upon us for being true to
ourselves. And as to people, we shall just hold up our heads; I think
that they generally take you at your own valuation. But, anyway, Society
does not much matter. We shan't want those who don't want us--you may be
sure. I hope he will divorce her quickly--there is nobody much to be
hurt by that except you and Cis; but if he doesn't--it can't be helped.
I don't think she has anything; but with my six hundred, and what I can
make, even if we have to live abroad, we shall be all right for money.
You have been awfully good to me always, Gordy, and I am very grieved to
hurt you, and still more sorry if you think I am being ungrateful; but
when one feels as I do--body and soul and spirit--there isn't any
question; there wouldn't be if death itself stood in the way. If you
receive this, we shall be gone together; I will write to you from
wherever we pitch our tent, and, of course, I shall write to Cicely. But
will you please tell Mrs. Doone and Sylvia, and give them my love if they
still care to have it. Good-bye, dear Gordy. I believe you would have
done the same, if you had been I. Always your affectionate--MARK."

In all those preparations he forgot nothing, employing every minute of
the few hours in a sort of methodic exaltation. The last thing before
setting out he took the damp cloths off his 'bull-man.' Into the face of
the monster there had come of late a hungry, yearning look. The artist
in him had done his work that unconscious justice; against his will had
set down the truth. And, wondering whether he would ever work at it
again, he redamped the cloths and wrapped it carefully.

He did not go to her village, but to one five or six miles down the
river--it was safer, and the row would steady him. Hiring a skiff, he
pulled up stream. He travelled very slowly to kill time, keeping under
the far bank. And as he pulled,