Overcome by his feelings, he entered the Cleverdale Hotel, and ordering a team was soon on his homeward way, while thoughts of inevitable failure and exposure coursed through his mind. The fugitive's return and the revelation made greatly astonished him, yet he had no doubt but that Alden and Belle were really man and wife.
Reaching the old Manor at ten o'clock, he was soon in his room, where he gave way to his feelings.
"I am a doomed man; my race is about run. What a fool I have been! To-morrow the world will learn of this beautiful little tableau at Hamblin's, and I shall be the butt of all jokes. But, pshaw! what do I care for that? Other things will make the neighborhood too warm for me. I must leave here, and at once."
Walking the room, gloom gathered upon his brow as he realized the desperate game he had been playing. Suddenly his gaze fell upon a letter lying upon his writing-table, the superscription being in the delicate handwriting of Mary Harris. With trembling hands he tore off the envelope, and read as follows:
"Dear Walter: When you read this, my body will be lying in the pond, back of your house, and my soul before its Maker."
"Great God!" he exclaimed, "I have killed her! Poor girl! poor girl!"
After partially calming himself, he continued reading the letter.
"When the hour of your wedding arrives, death will be my bridegroom. I have loved you with all the affection of my heart, and I forgive the wrong you have done me. God spare your life. Tears fall so fast I can scarcely see the paper before me or even hold my pen. Think occasionally of poor Mary. I cannot live and face the disgrace that will be mine. God bless and forgive you.
"Mary Harris."
Dropping the letter, he staggered and fell upon the sofa, utterly overcome. For a few moments he moaned in anguish, but soon rousing himself he arose and said: