Of all this Faith knew nothing. She had only an intuitive sense that something was not right; and doubt and annoyance kept her strength back. She lost ground again. All summed itself up in a longing for Mr. Linden to come.
Meanwhile Mr. Linden had received and read the following despatch, and studied and taught before and after it as best he might.
Pattaquasset, April, 18—.
"MY DEAR LINDEN,
I do not know what impulse prompts me to write this letter to you—A very strong one, probably, that makes fools of men—Yet even with my eyes open to this, I go on.
I have unwittingly become your rival. Not in fact, indeed, but in character. I have been so unfortunate as to love a person you are somehow concerned in—and before I knew that you had any concern of the kind. That is a very simple story, and only one to be smothered—not to be brought to open air,—were it all. But the course of the months past, which has too late brought me this knowledge of myself, has also made me believe that—had I a fair field—were there no contrary ties or fetters of conscience—I should not love in vain. What those ties are I know nothing—I have not asked—but the existence of some obligation I have been given to understand. With certain natures of truth and duty, that is a barrier impassable. You would be safe, were I to act out of honour.
I am a fool, I believe; but I am not yet such a fool as not to know that there is but one man in the world to whom I could write such a confession. Nothing better prompts it than pure selfishness, I am aware—but with me that is strong. I have that notion of you that you would not care to keep what you held only by priority of claim. I may be wrong in the supposition upon which I am going—yet it is my chance for life and I cannot yield it up. That were the lady free—in conscience as well as in fact—she might be induced to look favourably on me. I ought to add, that I believe such a consciousness has never shaped itself to her mind—the innocence with which she may at first have entered into some sort of obligation, would not lessen or alter its truth or stringency to her pure mind. The game is in your own hands, Linden—so is
Your unworthy friend
JULIUS HARRISON.
P.S.—One thing further I ought to add—that a somewhat delicate state of nerves and health, over which I have been for some time watching, would make any rash broaching of this subject very inexpedient and unsafe. I need not enforce this hint."