I took what she handed me. It was a sheet of note paper, folded across, and with Hephzibah's name written upon one side. I recognized the writing and, with a sinking heart, unfolded it. Upon the other side was written in pencil this:
“I am going away. I could not stay, of course. When I think how I have stayed and how I have treated you both, who have been so very, very kind to me, I feel—I can't tell you how I feel. You must not think me ungrateful. You must not think of me at all. And you must not try to find me, even if you should wish to do such a thing. I have the money which I intended using for my new frocks and I shall use it to pay my expenses and my fare to the place I am going. It is your money, of course, and some day I shall send it to you. And someday, if I can, I shall repay all that you have spent on my account. But you must not follow me and you must not think of asking me to come back. That I shall never do. I do thank you for all that you have done for me, both of you. I cannot understand why you did it, but I shall always remember. Don't worry about me. I know what I am going to do and I shall not starve or be in want. Good-by. Please try to forget me.
“FRANCES MORLEY.
“Please tell Mr. Knowles that I am sorry for what I said to him this afternoon and so many times before. How he could have been so kind and patient I can't understand. I shall always remember it—always. Perhaps he may forgive me some day. I shall try and hope that he may.”
I read to the end. Then, without speaking, I looked at Hephzy. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“She has gone,” she said, in answer to my unspoken question. “She must have gone some time in the night. The man at the inn stable drove her to the depot at Haddington on Hill. She took the early train for London. That is all we know.”
CHAPTER XIII
In Which Hephzy and I Agree to Live for Each Other
I shall condense the record of that day as much as possible. I should omit it altogether, if I could. We tried to trace her, of course. That is, I tried and Hephzy did not dissuade me, although she realized, I am sure, the hopelessness of the quest. Frances had left the rectory very early in the morning. The hostler at the inn had been much surprised to find her awaiting him when he came down to the yard at five o'clock. She was obliged to go to London, she said, and must take the very first train: Would he drive her to Haddington on Hill at once? He did so—probably she had offered him a great deal more than the regular fare—and she had taken the train.