And so, having nearly burnt a house down, and perhaps myself with it, I had written "finis" to my four-act play called Judas.
Hildreth and I had written faithfully to each other twice a day ... the absurd, foolish, improper letters that lovers exchange ... I wrote most of my letters in the cave-language that we had invented between us....
And we marked all the interspaces with secret symbols that meant intimate caresses ... kisses ... everything....
The play brought to a successful end, I realised that for one day no letters had come from Hildreth. And the next none came ... and the next....
I besieged the post office five and six times a day in a panic, till the postmaster first pitied me, then grew a bit put out....
A week, and not a single letter from the woman I loved....
The day before, Mrs. Suydam and her plumber affinity, for whom I felt myself and Hildreth and Penton largely responsible, in the example we had set—the day before these two young people had committed suicide.
As I walked about the cottage, alone, I had the uncanny feeling that the place was haunted ... that maybe the ghosts of these two poor children who had imitated us were down there haunting me ... why had not Hildreth and I written that joint letter to them as I had suggested!
—only a little thing, but it might have given them courage to go on!....