She closed the door—and abruptly opened it again. “One thing more,” she said. “Kiss me.”
He kissed her tenderly. Returning to the sitting-room, he looked back across the passage. Her door was shut.
His head was heavy; his mind felt confused. He threw himself on the sofa—utterly exhausted by the ordeal through which he had passed. In grief, in fear, in pain, the time still comes when Nature claims her rights. The wretched worn-out man fell into a restless sleep. He was awakened by the waiter, laying the cloth for dinner. “It’s just ready, sir,” the servant announced; “shall I knock at the lady’s door?”
Herbert got up and went to her room.
He entered softly, fearing to disturb her if she too had slept. No sign of her was to be seen. She had evidently not rested on her bed. A morsel of paper lay on the smooth coverlet. There was only a line written on it: “You may yet be happy—and it may perhaps be my doing.”
He stood, looking at that last line of her writing, in the empty room. His despair and his submission spoke in the only words that escaped him:
“I have deserved it!”