CHAPTER XLV.
Now I may speak; you fool, for all
Your lore! WHO made things plain in vain?
What was the sea for? What the grey
Sad church, that solitary day,
Crosses and graves, and swallows call?
Was there nought better them to enjoy,
No feat which, done, would make time break
And let us pent-up creatures through
Into eternity, our due?
Dis aliter visum.
At this letter Mr. Fowler stared, as though some magnetic power rivetted his eyes to the sheet.
At last he slowly lifted his gaze, to fix it on Wyn.
"Is this the only intimation—the only explanation she has given him?"
The girl assented.
"It is my fault," she said, huskily. "I knew it two days ago, Mr. Cranmer told me, but I had not the heart nor the strength to tell Osmond; I could not!"