"Dog-gone it!" he exclaimed, "I come mighty near not givin' you this. It's from Sylv."
Adela stripped away tho yellow envelope with startled haste; and on a poor sheet of blue-ruled note-paper she read these words:
"Dear Deely: I did not mean to write anything, but the feeling comes over me that I ought to say good-by to you and Dennie. I have decided that my life here has been a failure, and I am going away. I shall not come back. Mr. Lance thinks I have gone to do something for him, but it is no use to look for me, because no one can find me.
"I love you and Dennie, and want you to be happy together. Remember that, and do not mourn over me any more than if I had died. You know we cannot help dying. If I could do any good by staying I would; but I am certain it is better for me to go.
"Tell Dennie I trust him to make you happy. I believe in him and love him. Good-by. Sylv."
Dennie awaited the result of her reading in dumb expectancy, and saw the look of horror in her face, but could not account for it.
Adela shrieked aloud. "Oh, he is dead!" she cried. "He meant to kill himself! Help, Dennie, help! What are we to do?"
She stretched out her hand, with the letter in it; but Dennie only shook his head, in helpless bewilderment.
"I can't read it," he said, piteously. "I don't know enough, Deely. That ar writin'—Deely, what ails ye? What's he said there?"
The mistress of the academy came running in, alarmed by the girl's outcry.
"Sylv is going to kill himself," Adela repeated. "He says he's going away; but I know—oh, I know what he means! See, Dennie; that's what he says." And again she held the letter toward him, distractedly. "He says good-by to you and me. Can we go to-day? Is there any train?"
Dennie offered the mistress his time-table, which to him was merely an illegible curiosity—a memento of his unprecedented journey.