d she must make all her plans very quickly.

Fay's will was a strong one--there was no fear that she would falter
in her purpose; but she never remembered afterward how she carried it
out, or from whence came the strange feverish energy that supported
her. She was working in a dream, in a nightmare, in a horrible
impatience to be gone--to be gone--where? But even this question was
answered before many hours were over, for she was to make her poor
little plans with the utmost precision. In the quiet evening time, as
she paced restlessly through the empty rooms, she thought of a place
of refuge where she might rest safely for a little. The moment the
carriage had turned the corner, and she could see it no longer, she
had taken the letter from the drawer and laid it on the table.

Such an innocent, pitiful little letter it was.

"Darling Hugh," it began, "do not be angry with me when you
come back to-morrow and find your Wee Wifie has gone. What
could I do--how could I stay any longer after reading your own
words? Indeed, I think I could have borne anything but this.
No, this one thing I could not bear--that you should leave
your home and country to free yourself and me.

"'You must go,' you say; 'of course it must be you.' Darling,
do you not know me better than that?

"I felt you could not love me, Hugh; but have I ever blamed
you in my heart? I was too childish and young for such a man
as you. Why did you marry me, dear?--that was a great mistake.
But perhaps you saw I liked you.

"I tried so hard to please you, but somehow I always failed.
And then the baby came--our baby--and you did not care for
him; and then, indeed, I thought my heart would break. I
wonder if you know how I have loved you? I was not too young
for that, though you thought I was. I never lay down to sleep
without praying God to bless my dear husband, and
sometimes--was it very childish of me, I wonder?--I put baby's
hands together and made believe he was praying too.

"I think if you knew what I suffered, when they thought I was
dying, and the angels would not come for me; I think--yes, I
do think, Hugh--you would have been sorry for me then.

"Good-bye, my darling--I shall never call you that again, for
I am going away forever. You must not trouble about me, for I
shall take great care of myself, and after a time I shall not
fret so