ritten lines.

'I have tried to answer you in a long letter, but after all I can't
send it. I fear you wouldn't understand. Better to repeat simply that I
wrote the article you speak of. I should have told you about it some
day, but now my intentions and hopes matter nothing. Whatever I said
now would seem dishonest pleading. Good-bye.'

She read this so many times that at length she had but to close her
eyes to see every word clearly traced on the darkness. The meanings she
extracted from each sentence were scarcely less numerous than her
perusals. In spite of reason, this enigmatic answer brought her some
solace. He _could_ defend himself; that was the assurance she had
longed for. Impossible (she again and again declared to herself with
emphasis) for their intimacy to be resumed. But in secret she could
hold him, if not innocent, at all events not base. She had not bestowed
her love upon a mere impostor.

But now a mournful, regretful passion began to weigh upon her heart.
She shed tears, and presently stole away to her room for a night of
sorrow.

What must be her practical course? If she went back to London without
addressing another word to him, he must understand her silence as a
final farewell. In that case his departure from Exeter would, no doubt,
speedily follow, and there was little likelihood that she would ever
again see him. Were Godwin a vulgar schemer, he would not so readily
relinquish the advantage he had gained; he would calculate upon the
weakness of a loving woman, and make at least one effort to redeem his
position. As it was, she could neither hope nor fear that he would try
to see her again. Yet she wished to see him, desired it ardently.

And yet--for each impulse of ardour was followed by a cold fit of
reasoning--might not his abandonment of the position bear a meaning
such as Buckland would of course attribute to it? If he were hopeless
of the goodwill of her parents, what profit would it be to him to
retain her love? She was no heiress; supposing him actuated by base
motive, her value in his eyes came merely of his regarding her as a
means to an end.

But this was to reopen the question of whether or not he truly loved
her. No; he was forsaking her because he thought it impossible for her
to pardon the deceit he had undeniably practised--with whatever
palliating circumstances. He was overcome with shame. He imagined her
indignant, scornful.

Why had she written such a short, cold no