"He has taken a trail where they are not likely to follow."
"Oh!" cried Helen with a sob. "You mean that he—that he——?"
"Yes! He hinted his intention to me last night——"
"And you did not try to stop him?" she cried almost reproachfully.
"No! Why should I? If you will think, Helen, you will find many reasons why this was the only thing for Ainley. He has left a long note in his pocket-book and a confession which clears me of that affair at Oxford. There is a note also for you—perhaps you would like to take the book and read the note to me as well."
He handed her the pocket-book and watched her as she returned to the little tent, then began to busy himself with preparations for breakfast. Half an hour later Helen emerged again. Her eyes were red with weeping.
"I have torn my note out," she said, "there it is." She held a crumpled ball of paper in her hand. "It is the saddest thing I ever read. He tells me that he was responsible for my going adrift, that he deliberately broke my paddle in order that he might find me and pose as a hero, because he wanted me to marry him and knew that I worshipped heroism. He says that he had made what reparation was possible to you and that you will be able to clear your name. He prays for our happiness, and—and—he hints at what he was about to do, because he finishes with the old cry of the gladiators—'Hail Cæsar, we who are about to die, salute thee!' Oh! It is so sad!... No eyes but mine shall ever read it—and I—shall never read it again."
She moved her hand slightly and the crumpled ball rolled into the blaze of the fire. She watched the flickering flame leap up, and die down, then she turned to her lover with streaming eyes.
"You were right to let him go, my dear! I—I pray God they will not find him."
"I also!" said Stane.