"JOSIAH."

And about eight o'clock her reply came, and then he went to bed,
wondering if he had reached the summit of human suffering or if there
would be more to come.

XXIX

Late that night, in the old panelled library at Bracondale, Hector
walked up and down. He, too, was suffering, suffering intensely, his
only grain of comfort being that he was alone. His mother was away in
the north with Anne, and he had the place to himself. In his hand was
Theodora's letter. As Josiah had calculated, knowing cross-country
posts, both his and hers had arrived at the same time.

Hector paced and paced up and down, his thoughts maddening him.

And so three people were unhappy now--not he and his beloved one alone.
This was the greater calamity.

But how he had misjudged Josiah! The common, impossible husband had
behaved with a nobility, a justice, and forbearance which he knew his
own passionate nature would not have been capable of. It had touched him
to the core, and he had written at once in reply, enclosing Theodora's
letter about the arrival of the train.

"DEAR SIR,--I am overcome with your generosity and your
justice. I thank you for your letter and for your magnanimity in
forwarding the enclosure it contained. I understand and appreciate
the sentiment you express when you say, had you been younger you
would have killed me, and I on my side would have been happy to
offer you any satisfaction you might have wished, and am ready to
do so now if you desire it. At the same time, I would like you to
know, in deed, I have never injured you. My deep and everlasting
grief will be that I have brought pain and sorrow into the life of
a lady who is very dear to us both. My own life is darkened forever
as well, and I am going away out of England for a long time as soon
as I can make my arrangements. I will respect your desire never to
inform your wife of her mistake, and I will not trouble either of
you again. Only, by a later post, I intend to answer her letter and
say farewell.
"Believe me,
"Yours truly,
"BRACONDALE."

This he had despatched some hours ago, but his last good-bye to Theodora
was not yet written. What could he say to her? How could he tell her of
all the misery and anguish, all the pain which was ra