n encroachment of despair which made him for a
time unable to move or even think.

His reply, written by the dreary twilight which represented sunset, ran
thus.

'Dear Amy,--I thank you for your letter, and I appreciate your motive in
writing it. But if you feel that you have "done what I expressed a wish
that you should do," you must have strangely misunderstood me.

'The only one thing that I wished was, that by some miracle your love
for me might be revived. Can I persuade myself that this is the letter
of a wife who desires to return to me because in her heart she loves me?
If that is the truth you have been most unfortunate in trying to express
yourself.

'You have written because it seemed your duty to do so. But, indeed, a
sense of duty such as this is a mistaken one. You have no love for me,
and where there is no love there is no mutual obligation in marriage.
Perhaps you think that regard for social conventions will necessitate
your living with me again. But have more courage; refuse to act
falsehoods; tell society it is base and brutal, and that you prefer to
live an honest life.

'I cannot share your wealth, dear. But as you have no longer need of my
help--as we are now quite independent of each other--I shall cease to
send the money which hitherto I have considered yours. In this way I
shall have enough, and more than enough, for my necessities, so that you
will never have to trouble yourself with the thought that I am suffering
privations. At Christmas I go to Croydon, and I will then write to you
again.

'For we may at all events be friendly. My mind is relieved from
ceaseless anxiety on your account. I know now that you are safe from
that accursed poverty which is to blame for all our sufferings. You I do
not blame, though I have sometimes done so. My own experience teaches
me how kindness can be embittered by misfortune. Some great and noble
sorrow may have the effect of drawing hearts together, but to struggle
against destitution, to be crushed by care about shillings and
sixpences--that must always degrade.

'No other reply than this is possible, so I beg you not to write in this
way again. Let me know if you go to live elsewhere. I hope Willie is
well, and that his growth is still a delight and happiness to you.

'EDWIN REARDON.'

That one word 'dear,' occurring in the middle of the letter, gave him
pause as he read the lines over. Should he not obliterate it, and even
in such a way that A