She had sent him back his ring without a word; and now, within a few hours of leaving London for Liverpool on her way to Canada, a letter from Lorin had arrived with the postmark "Rome."
She would not open it at first, but held it in her hand as she walked about the room. She had reached a passive stage of grief, a point at which all feeling seemed to have left her, and she could look forward without either interest, curiosity, or even dread to her future existence.
By a succession of cablegrams Alexander Wallace had secured for his ne'er-do-weel nephew an opening in Toronto in the office of an old friend and client. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong were to travel from London that evening, and sail from Liverpool for New York early on the following day.
And now, just as Laline had reached the stage of dull, feelingless acquiescence which usually follows a storm of emotion, the sight of Lorin's handwriting on the envelope made her heart quiver and ache, awakening to pain again.
Yet his words, when she could summon up courage to read them, were few and restrained.
"I received the ring," he wrote, "and I am sorry you did not care to keep it. My uncle writes that you are going to Canada. I hope with all my heart that you will be happy there—happy and prosperous. You will no doubt be writing sometimes to my uncle, so that I shall be able to hear about you. I shall be in Italy some weeks, or I may cross to Spain. I do not very much care where I go, but I may have to cut my wanderings short for Uncle Alec's sake. He is used to me and may be lonely. I shall not be writing again; but you will remember—will you not?—that at any time, while we both live, if there is anything in the world you wish me to do it shall be done.
"Wallace Lorin Armstrong."
She read the letter with hot dry eyes. Then she sat down and learned it by heart—every word. That done, she tore it into little pieces and burned them one by one in the candle she lit for the purpose. Not one tear did she shed during the work, and her eyes were still tearless when she descended to the study to take leave of Mrs. Vandeleur.
To all appearance that lady was far more agitated than she.
"You are really going to him!" she exclaimed, rising hurriedly and coming over to where Laline stood, white as death, in her travelling-costume. "To the last I thought you would escape. Lina, you don't know what it is to live with a wholly uncongenial nature. You and your husband were born under opposing stars; he is wholly animal, you are as wholly spiritual. My poor dear child, my heart bleeds for you, and I feel as though I had brought all this upon you!"
The little lady had indeed bitterly reproached herself for having permitted her treacherous niece to be present on the occasion when Laline, under the influence of hypnotism, had confessed her marriage.