"Your grateful
"Harriet Buxton."
I sat under the glass-topped wall, the letter between my knees, staring at the brick walk bordered with green turf. How strange it was, how incredibly strange! A curious sense of watchful, relentless destiny grew in me. Truly it slumbered not nor slept! I, who had cursed that child unborn, had reached over seas and helped it into the world! I, who had been jealous of my friend, had sent him a friend indeed! I, who had grudged Margarita husband and child (for in my black, cruel fever I did this) had given her back to both!
I pondered these things long (as if the thread in the tapestry should marvel at its devious windings) and then summoned my landlady.
"Mrs. Drabbit," said I, "I am thinking of going to America."
