“It is impossible,” said the governor, decisively.
“Then I have no alternative but to tender my resignation.”
It was accepted at once.
I went out from the board-room a disgraced man, with a stain upon my character which will last for life, and follow me wherever I plant my foot. The honest Urquhart name, which my father bore, and Dallas—which I ought to have given stainless to my wife, and left—if I could leave nothing else—to my children—ay, it was gone. Gone, for ever and ever.
I stole up into my own rooms, and laid myself down on my bed, as motionless as if it had been my coffin.
Fear not, my love; one sin was saved me, perhaps by your letter of that morning. The wretchedest, most hopeless, most guilty of men would never dare to pray for death so long as he knew that a good woman loved him.
When daylight failed, I bestirred myself, lit my lamp, and began to make a few preparations and arrangements about my rooms—it being clear that, wherever I went, I must quit this place as soon as possible.
My mind was almost made up as to the course I ought to pursue; and that of itself calmed me. I was soon able to sit down, and begin this letter to you; but got no further than the first three words, which, often as I have written them, look as new, strange, and precious as ever: “My dear Theodora.” Dear,—God knows how infinitely! and mine—altogether and everlastingly mine. I felt this, even now. In the resolution I had made, no doubts shook me with respect to you; for you would bid me to do exactly what conscience urged—ay, even if you differed from me. You said once, with your arms round my neck, and your sweet eyes looking up steadfastly in mine:—“Max, whatever happens, always do what you think to be right, without reference to me. I would love you all the better for doing it, even if you broke my heart.”
I was pondering thus, planning how best to tell you of things so sore; when there came a knock to my room-door. Expecting no one but a servant, I said “Come in,” and did not even look up—for every creature in the gaol must be familiar with my disgrace by this time.
“Doctor Urquhart, do I intrude?”