I ignored the last sentence. "You will be ready?" I repeated. "Do you
mean you're going with me?"

"Of course I am. It isn't likely I'll let you start off all alone, when
you're in a state like this. Of course I'm goin' with you. Now go and
lie down. You're so worn out, poor boy."

I must have had a glimmer of reason then, a trace of decency and
unselfishness. For the first time I thought of her. I remembered that
she, too, had loved Little Frank; that she, too, must be suffering.

"I am no more tired than you are," I said. "You have slept and eaten no
more than I. You are the one who must rest. I sha'n't let you go with
me."

"It isn't a question of lettin'. I shall go if you do, Hosy. And a woman
don't need rest like a man. Please go upstairs and lie down, Hosy. Oh,"
with a sudden burst of feeling, "don't you see I've got about all I can
bear as it is? I can't--I can't have YOU to worry about too."

My conscience smote me. "I'll go, Hephzy," said I. "I'll do whatever you
wish; it is the least I can do."

She thanked me. Then she said, hesitatingly:

"Here is--here is her letter, Hosy. You may like to read it again.
Perhaps it may help you to decide what is best to do."

She handed me the letter. I took it and went to my room. There I read it
again and again. And, as I read, the meaning of Hephzy's last sentence,
that the letter might help me to decide what was best to do, began to
force itself upon my overwrought brain. I began to understand what she
had understood from the first, that my trip to London was hopeless,
absolutely useless--yes, worse than useless.

"You must not try to find me... You must not follow me or think of
asking me to come back. That I shall never do."

I was understanding, at last. I might go to London; I might even,
through the help of the police, or by other means, find Frances Morley.
But, having found her, what then? What claim had I upon her? What right
had I to pursue her and force my presence upon her? I knew the shock she
had undergone, the shattering of her belief in her father, the knowledge
that she had--as she must feel--forced herself upon our kindness and
charity. I knew how proud she was and how fiercely she had relented the
slightest hint that she was in any way dependent upon us or under
the least obligation to us. I knew all this and I was beginning to
comprehend what her feelings toward us and toward herself must be--now.

I might find her--yes; but as for convinc