"'But I am jealous, weakly, selfishly jealous of the grand girl of whom you write so admiringly. It seems to me I detect in your sentences the evidence that she has dethroned me in your heart, where until now I flatter myself I have been first.
"'You say she is beautiful, womanly; that her great physical strength does not detract from her femininity; that she is always a modest, gentle woman. I am glad to know it, and if you love her I cannot be so cruel as to execute the threat I wrote so fiercely some time ago, when I guessed you were losing your heart. I guess again, John: Lizzī is the woman you wrote of then. But come home; come and tell me about her who has saved your life, and against whom I have not the heart to hurl my former threat.
Lizzī took the letter and looked at it. The beautiful, clear writing was the same as that of the other letter, which had led to her secret marriage. Now the obstacles to the acknowledgment of that ceremony were, or soon would be, removed. She clasped her hands, enfolding in them the letter, and sat still, listening to her heart beating a reveillé for the sunrise of certainty. She had been living in the night of doubt. She had been afraid of this formidable mother, who wrote so beautifully and coldly, but now this fear was banished, and love, reciprocally grateful, took its place. Her heart went out to the fond, yet jealous, mother who had written so yieldingly of her. This mother had clung so determinedly to her son, but now she loosed her grasp on him that he might tend whither he would, because his way led to her, Lizzī.
She was flattered by the manner in which Gill had written to his mother of her. "For," she reasoned, "a man will be honest with his mother."
"Go, John," she said simply. "Your mother should know before the world does."
"I think it best, Lizzī. I shall come back in two weeks unless something happens to me."
"Don't say that, John, or you can't go. If anything should happen to you, death would happen to me."
She kissed him. Her kiss was fire to his blood. He caught her in a passionate embrace. His lack of reverence wounded her. She shrank from his touch, which for the first time seemed coarse. Instinctively he understood and released her.
The next day he departed for his mother's residence.