These things she placed carefully within her pocket, then taking pen and paper from the box, she sat down and wrote across it:
Even had there been no other motive to take me away, I could never have stayed to be a burden on your charity. I set out to do the one thing that maketh life worth the holding. Do not regret or pity me and God keep ye always for the comfort ye have been to me.
She folded this and addressed it to Jerome Caryl, her eyes lifted to the fast-darkening sky; her lips were resolutely set. With a steady step she turned from the room and down the narrow stairs.
Calling the woman of the house, she gave her money and the letter for Caryl.
“He will come to-morrow,” she said. “Do not fail to remember to give him that.”
The woman began to whimper.
“Woe is me for the Good cause!” she cried dismally. “Will there be a to-morrow for any of us?”
“Ye are all safe,” answered Delia steadily, “I do not fly for fear—farewell.”
She turned abruptly into the quiet street and turned toward the country.