[CHAPTER XXXII]
THE BLOW FALLS
In October, during the second autumn of their married life, the blow fell.
A letter came from David; very clear, very concise, very much to the point; written in ink, in his small neat writing.
"My dear Wife—" wrote David, "I hope you will try to understand what I am about to write and not think, for a moment, that I under-value the pleasure and help I have received from our correspondence, during the year and nine months which have elapsed since my departure from England. Your letters have been a greater cheer and blessing than you can possibly know. Also it has been an untold help to be able to write and share with you, all the little details of my interests out here.
"I am afraid these undeniable facts will make it seem even stranger to you, that I am now writing to ask that our correspondence should cease.
"I daresay you have noticed that my letters lately have been irregular, and often, I am afraid, short and unsatisfactory. The fact is—I have required all my remaining energy for the completion of my work out here.
"I want to bid you farewell, my wife, while I still have strength to write hopefully of my present work, and joyously of the future. I will not, now, hide from you, Diana, that my time here is nearly over. Do you remember how I said: 'I cannot promise to die, you know'? I might have promised, with a good grace, after all.
"This will be the last letter I shall write; and when you have answered it, do not write again. I may be moved from here, any day; and can give you no address.