Drunk with agony, she heard her mother's quavering, pitiful voice, 'My dear, my dear!' ...
Three days later the tearful Mrs. Tweedy smuggled a note into her hands.
"What was he like?" she asked.
"Oh, don't ask me—don't ask me," said Mrs. Tweedy.
This was the note—dated from John's:
"Frances, my Darling—
"I'm sorry I couldn't see you before I left. It was useless to attempt it, as your father would not allow it. Frances; your father and I had a terrible quarrel. He wouldn't hear of our marriage and he insulted me as no man ever dared to do before. I stood it as long as I could but, though I regret it now beyond any words, I couldn't put up with what he said in the end. Perhaps when I've got my Commission, he may relent. You must do your best to influence him. But in any case, I ask you to keep your promise to me. Keep it, and your courage. No matter how things go against us or how long we have to wait, I'll never change. Before God, I swear this, Frances. I know you have the strength to be true also. And if you ever can write or come to me, 'North-West Mounted Police, N.W.T.' will always find me. I'm going back today.
Till we meet again, then—
Hector."
The letter was written on a piece of John's notepaper with the Adair crest upon it. She looked at the crest and at the proud, stern motto, 'Strong.—Steadfast.' The words seemed to her the very embodiment of Hector, of his promise, of everything she must be and had sworn to be in the long and hopeless night before her.