"My dear Friend—When you read this letter, which I write on the
eve of my marriage, but shall not send till some days have passed,
you must think of me as the wife of Ugo Del Ferice. To-night, I am
still Maria Consuelo. I have something to say to you, and you must
read it patiently, for I shall never say it again—and after all,
it will not be much. Is it right of me to say it? I do not know.
Until to-morrow I have still time to refuse to be married.
Therefore I am still a free agent, and entitled to think freely.
After to-morrow it will be different.
"I wish, dear, that I could tell you all the truth. Perhaps you