“I—I can’t read!” she murmured piteously. “I can’t read it!” Her hands closed tightly on the thick, smooth sheet of notepaper, and she set her teeth hard. “I must be mad—yes, that is it! Let me wait a moment. Now!” and she bent forward, and, with knitted brows, read it out word by word, slowly, painfully, like a child reading a repugnant task.
Dear Miss Marlowe—for I feel that I dare not call you by the name engraven on my heart, and yet I must, though it is for the last time! Dear, dear Doris! I am the most wretched and miserable of men! And yesterday I was the happiest! Doris, I have seen my uncle and told him all, and he has proved to me, beyond all question, that it is impossible for me to make you mine. I can’t tell you all that passed between us; I scarcely know what I am writing, but the dreadful fact remains that by making you my wife I should work you nothing but wretchedness and misery. Don’t ask me to tell you anything more; I cannot! Try and forget me, Doris! I am not, and never can be, worth a single thought of yours! I know what you will think, and the knowledge only adds to my misery. You will think that I value my worldly prosperity above your love; but I swear it is not so! I would willingly resign everything—rank, money, position—for your sake; but there are other reasons. Forgive and forget me, Doris, or if you still think of me, remember me as one who wishes himself dead! Good-by—and forever!
Cecil Neville.
I return your ring. I dare not keep it, having lost you!
Thrice she read it slowly, carefully, as if she were trying to learn it by heart; then she rose, and, white as the stones washed by the brook stood gazing at the broken and hastily scrawled lines.
“Good-by—and forever!” she murmured. “Good-by—and forever!”
A wild laugh forced itself from her lips, and she dropped down on the bank as if she had been felled by a blow.
CHAPTER XV.
A TERRIBLE THREAT.
Half an hour later Jeffrey was making his way along the footpath through the woods, his thin, bent figure throwing a fantastic shadow on the tree trunks, as he walked with his head projected and drooping, his eyes fixed on the ground. Every now and then he raised his head, looking about him as if he remembered that he had asked Doris to meet him; but he almost immediately again relapsed into his pre-occupied manner. Once he stopped and took the papers from the pocket in his breast and looked at them with a deep and thoughtful frown.