"And now about the present.
"I can't die, miles away from you! Since death has been coming nearer, a grave out here seems to hold such a horror of loneliness. It would be rest, to lie beneath the ground on which your dear feet tread. Also, I am possessed by a yearning so unutterable to see your face once more, that I doubt if I can die, until I have seen it.
"So I am coming back to England, by the quickest route; and, if I live through the journey, I shall get down into the vicinity of Riverscourt somehow, and just once see you drive by. You will not see me, or know that I am near; so I don't break our compact, Diana. It may be a sick man's fancy, to think that I can do it; yet I believe I shall pull it through. So, if this comes into your hands, from an English address, you will know that, most likely, before I died, I had my heart's desire—one sight of your sweet face; and, having had it, I died content.
"Ah, what a difference love—the real thing—makes in a man's life! God forgive me, I can't think or write of my work. Everything has now slipped away, save thoughts of you. However, you know all the rest.
"I am writing to ask you not to write again, as I shall be coming home—only I daren't give you that, as the reason! And also to beg of you not to leave England. Think what it would be, if I reached there, only to find you gone!
"And now about the future, my beloved; your future.
"Oh, that picture! You know,—the big one? I can't put on paper all I thought about it; but—it showed me—I knew at once—that somehow, some one had been teaching you—what love means.
"Diana, don't misunderstand me! I trust you always, utterly. But we both made a horrible mistake. Our marriage was an unnatural, unlawful thing. It is no fault of yours, if some one—before you knew what was happening—has made you care, in something the way I suddenly found I cared for you.
"And I want to say, that this possibility makes me glad to leave you free—absolutely free, my wife.