to be borrowed; he had
evidently been sure of his prey; Micky swore under his breath.

Of course, Ashton had not dreamed of the letter being opened, had not
dreamed of anything but that his carefully-made plans would be
minutely carried out and nothing more said.

Micky sat for a long time, lost in thought; the hands of the clock
crawled round to one and the chime struck; he looked up then, glancing
at the clock vaguely.

If he had not met Esther Shepstone there might have been no Esther in
the world at all now; if he allowed that letter to reach its
destination he would be plunging her back again into the abyss of
despair from which he had dragged her only that evening. She loved
Ashton; of that Micky was sure. Very well then, she should at least
have some part of her ideal left to her.

He went over to his desk and took up paper and pen; he spread Ashton's
letter out before him and studied the writing carefully.

Ordinary sort of writing, rather unformed and sprawly, but after a
trial run Micky managed a very presentable copy of it.

He sat back in his chair and eyed his handiwork with pride; he had
missed his vocation, he told himself with a chuckle; he ought to have
been a forger.

Then he dipped the pen in the ink again and squared his elbows. He had
never written a love-letter in his life, but he knew positively that
he was about to write one now.

He thought of Esther and the wistfulness of her grey eyes; she was the
girl whom a man could love. He coloured a little as the thought
involuntarily crossed his mind; she was a girl whom--he began to write
rapidly.

"My darling little girl----"

Micky was naturally rather eloquent with his pen, though he had never
before tried it in this especial direction.

"This is the most difficult letter I have ever had to write in all my
life; first, because I love you so much; and, secondly, because I am
afraid it is going to hurt you nearly as much as it hurts me. Dear, as
it will be some time before I see you again, and because I cannot
explain everything to you, I am going to ask you to trust me till we
meet again. I am leaving England to-night...."

Micky paused and ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly before he
struggled on once more: "I shall be thinking of you every minute till
we meet again, and of the happy times we have had together. I will
write to you whenever I can...." The pen paused, and Micky groaned,
recalling that Ashton had said he shoul