"To say good-by?" echoed her companion in surprise.
"Yes," said the other tearfully. "I have said good-by to her—I have said good-by to everybody—to everything—to myself—I must give them all up—I must give myself up."
"Oh, it isn't as bad as that, surely?"
Alicia shook her head sadly.
"Yes," she said; "I've reckoned it all up. It's a total loss. Nothing will be saved—husband, home, position, good name—all will go. You'll see. I shall be torn into little bits of shreds. They won't leave anything unsaid. But it's not that I care for so much. It's the injustice of it all. The injustice of the power of evil. This man Underwood never did a good action in all his life. And now even after he is dead he has the power to go on destroying—destroying—destroying!"
"That's true," said Annie; "he was no good."
The banker's wife drew from her bosom the letter Underwood wrote her before he killed himself.
"When he sent me this letter," she went on, "I tried to think myself into his condition of mind, so that I could decide whether he intended to keep his word and kill himself or not. I tried to reason out just how he felt and how he thought. Now I know. It's hopeless, dull, sodden desperation. I haven't even the ambition to defend myself from Mr. Jeffries."
Annie shrugged her shoulders.
"I wouldn't lose any sleep on his account," she said with a laugh. More seriously she added: "Surely he won't believe——"