“You brought her to the train?”
“Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.”
He handed Harold an envelope.
Inside was a sheet of paper.
“Dearest—dearest—You have all my sympathy—all my love. Come to me soon.”
These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice.
He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the bed and burst into tears.
It was ten years since he had wept.
Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer.
It was ten years since he had prayed.