dwriting rose, as though she had at that instant heard his step
beyond the room, and filled first her eyes, then her cheeks, then her
heart.

Her eyes met Lizzie's and for the barest moment of time their challenges
met. Rachel seemed to hesitate, then, gathering up her letters, looked
round at Roddy and said, "I think I'll just go up and take my things
off, this fire's hotter than I expected--I'll be back in a moment."

She walked slowly across the room and up the broad staircase.

III

She did not switch on the light. The evening dusk left the room cool and
dim, but by the window, standing so that green shadows met the grey and
through them both a pale light trembled before it vanished, she took the
letter in her hand, allowing the others to drop and be scattered, white,
on the floor at her feet.

She held the envelope; he had written and he had sworn to her that he
would not do so--she should have been furious at his broken word,
scornful of him for his weakness, indignant at his treating her so
lightly.

But she could not think of that now, she could only think of the letter.
The envelope was so precious to her that it seemed to return the caress
that his fingers gave it and to have of itself some especial
individuality. She traced his hand on the address, treasured every line
and mark, and then at last tore it open. It was not a very long letter.
He had written to her:

"You will despise me for breaking my word. Perhaps you won't
read this--but I _can't_ help it, I _can't_ help it, and even
if I could I don't think that I would. I know that my writing
to you is just another of the rash, foolish, silly weak things
that I've gone on doing all my life, but let it be so. I don't
pretend to be fine or brave and I have tried all these weeks,
tried harder than you can know. I've written to you every day
letter after letter, and torn them up--torn them all up. I've
fancied that perhaps you've forgotten by now and then I've
known that you've not and then I've known that it were better
if you did.

I love you so madly that--(here he had scratched some words
out)--I must tell you that I love you so that _you_ can hear me
and not only my walls and furniture and my own self. I'm trying
not to be selfish. I know that I'm doing something now that is
hard on you, but my silence is eating me, thrusting, killing--I
shall be better soon--