name, all means were passed and reviewed; each was in turn
dismissed, and the darkness about her bed was like a flame. There was no
doubt that she was doomed to another night of insomnia. The bell of the
French clock struck three, and, quite exhausted, she got up and walked
about the room. "In another hour I shall hear the screech of the sparrow
on the window-sill, and may lie awake till Merat comes to call me." She
lay down, folded her arms, closed her eyes and began to count the sheep
as they came through the gate. But thoughts of Owen began to loom up,
and in spite of her efforts to repress them, they grew more and more
distinct. The clock struck four, and soon after it seemed to her that
the darkness was lightening. For a long while she did not dare to open
her eyes. At last she had to open them, and the grey-blue light was
indescribably mournful. Again her life seemed small, black and evil. She
jumped out of bed, passed her arms into a tea-gown, and paced the room.
She must see Owen. She must tell him the truth. Once he knew the truth
he would not care for her, and that would make the parting easier for
both. She did not believe that this was so, but she had to believe
something, and she went down to the drawing-room and wrote--

"DEAR OWEN--You may come and see me to-morrow if you care to. I am
afraid that your visit will not be a pleasant one. I don't think I could
be an agreeable companion to anyone at present, but I cannot send you
away without explaining why. However painful that explanation may be to
you, there is at all events this to be said, that it will be doubly
painful to me. I am not, dear Owen, ungrateful; that you should think me
so is the hardest punishment of all, and I am sorry I have not made you
happier. I know other women don't feel as I do, but I can't change
myself. I feel dreadfully hypocritical writing in this strain. I, less
than anyone have a right to do so, especially now. But you will try to
understand. You know that I am not a hypocrite at heart. I am determined
to tell you all, and you will then see that no course is open to me but
to send you away. Even if you were to promise that we should be friends
we must not see each other, but I don't think that you would care to see
me on those terms. I should have stopped you yesterday when you took my
hand, when you kissed me, but I was weak and cowardly. Somehow I could
not bring myself to tell you the truth. I shall expect you in the
after