hanging oil lamp's little floating redder core-flame. . . . No: not to look in at the small window!—In here, into the study. Almost dark: no one here.
Now into the salon. Almost dark too: no one here. Don't call for her, or your voice will unnerve you as a concession to ghostliness.
In the morning-room. Almost dark: no one.
In the bedroom: no one.
Will you go into the bath-room? Yes. No one.—Stand and think a little.
Now go back through all those almost dark and empty rooms, restraining that cry that is in the top of your beating heart. And, going back, what an emptiness there is in the place!
It is foolish to feel the presence of the ghostly or something visibly unseen here. The matches are on the mantelpiece behind the jar. Don't knock it over, groper . . . Light? No: darkness! These thin contraband matches are better than the stinking sulphers, but still . . . Out again. Damn!
Now be careful this time. Light the candle.
It is lit.
What is the time? A quarter to nine. Now A letter on the table.
She is gone!
Open and read the letter. Here:
'Mr. Leicester,—I see it all now. I told you I would go away when it came. The last thing I ask from you is for me never to see you again. You will find everything in the house. I have only taken the clothes I have on and £2 7s., which I had when I went with you. You are not to try to find me. If you do, you are a coward and no gentleman. I pray God will forgive me for my wickedness; He knows I did not do it for gain, but for pure love for you; that is the only comfort I have within myself. I loved you, but what is love and how strong when through suffering hate takes the place of that love. I hate you and I always shall.
I sat down and, with my elbows on my knees and my head between my hands, tried vainly to understand it all.
