evil; but, in any case, it was her last. She would not
allow herself to receive or read another.

It was a long letter, written with pencil upon coarse blue-lined paper.
After saying that the fever had disappeared, and that before long he
should try to rejoin his regiment, the words went on as follows:

"I said that I would write and tell you all. When you ran away from me
last year, I was deeply hurt; I searched for you, but could find no
clew. Then I went back eastward, joined the camping party, and after a
day or two returned with them to Caryl's. No one suspected where I had
been. From Caryl's we all went down to the city together, and the winter
began.

"I was, in a certain way, engaged to Helen; yet I was not bound. Nor was
she. I liked her: she had known how to adapt herself to me always. But I
had never been in any haste; and I wondered sometimes why she held to
me, when there were other men, worth more in every way than Ward
Heathcote, who admired her as much as I did. But I did not then know
that she loved me. I know it now.

"After our return to the city, I never spoke of you; but now and then
she mentioned your name of her own accord, and I--listened. She was much
surprised that you did not write to her; she knew no more where you
were than I did, and hoped every day for a letter; so did I. But you
did not write.

"All this time--I do not like to say it, yet it is part of the
story--she made herself my slave. There was nothing I could say or do,
no matter how arbitrary, to which she did not yield, in which she did
not acquiesce. No word concerning marriage was spoken, even our former
vague lovers' talk had ceased; for, after you hurt me so deeply, Anne, I
had not the heart for it. My temper was anything but pleasant. The
winter moved on; I had no plan; I let things take their course. But I
always expected to find you in some way, to see you again, until--that
marriage notice appeared. I took it to Helen. 'It is Anne, I suppose?' I
said. She read it, and answered, 'Yes.' She was deceived, just as I
was."

Here Anne put down the letter, and looked off over the river. Helen knew
that Tita's name was Angelique, and that the sister's was plain Anne. It
was a lie direct. But Heathcote did not know it. "He shall never know
through me," she thought, with stern sadness.

The letter went on: "I think she had not suspected me before, Anne--I
mean in connection with you: she was always thinking of Rachel. But sh