wrong.

She was amused. "Really, Mr. Morris, you must be mistaken. Miss Maria
went out just an hour ago with her new husband. Surely you are jesting.
Why she has never looked better. So happy. They have left for
_Konigstein_. They have also left you a note.

I told her I would be right over, and hopped a cab. I began to think I
was losing my mind. I had seen them both--dead. The landlady had seen
them this morning--_alive!_"

When I arrived, the landlady looked at me for a long moment, taking in
my rough, dark-blue complexion, unpressed clothes, red-rimmed eyes, then
wagged a finger playfully.

"You are playing a joke, no? A wedding joke, maybe. Here, too, we haze
newlyweds. But of course I understood. Who could help loving Miss Maria?
Be of good heart, young man. For you there will be another, some day.
But I talk too much. Here is your letter."

I went where I would be undisturbed, to the reading room of the library
on the same street as my flat. To the musty, oblong, dimly lit room
whose threshold sunshine and fresh air dared not cross. Without the
saving warmth of sunlight or the fresh, clean relief of sweet-smelling
air, I read. Read, inhaling the pungent, sour smell of the Scotch I had
consumed during the long, sleepless night. Read, and then doubted that I
had read at all--but the blue ink on the white paper forced me to
acknowledge its actuality. It had been written by Hunter, in a neat,
scholar's script.

_Dear Morris_: (It began)

_Why should I not have wanted Maria? You did; others doubtless did. Why
then should she not be mine? There are many things worse than being
married to me; she might have married a man who beat her!_

_With her I have known the two happiest days of my life. I want no more
than that. I have no right to ask for more. Have we, any of us, a right
to endless bliss on this earth? Hardly._

_You thought of her welfare above all; for that I owe you some
explanation. You must be patient, you must believe, and in the end, you
must do as I ask._ You must.

_You wanted to know about me--of my life before Maria. Before Maria? It
seems strange to think about it. There is no life without Maria. Still,
there was a time when for me she didn't exist. I have been constantly
going forward to the day when I would meet her, yet there was a time
when I didn't know where I would find her, or even what her name would
be!_

_It was chance that brought us together. For me, good chance; for you,