rote a long letter to his guardian. It would
hurt the old man--Gordy was over seventy now--but that could not be
helped. He would not post it till he knew for certain.

After telling how it had all come about, he went on thus: "I know that
to many people, and perhaps to you, Gordy, it will seem very wrong, but
it does not to me, and that is the simple truth. Everybody has his
own views on such things, I suppose; and as I would not--on my honour,
Gordy--ever have held or wished to hold, or ever will hold in marriage
or out of marriage, any woman who does not love me, so I do not think it
is acting as I would resent others acting towards me, to take away from
such unhappiness this lady for whom I would die at any minute. I do not
mean to say that pity has anything to do with it--I thought so at first,
but I know now that it is all swallowed up in the most mighty feeling I
have ever had or ever shall have. I am not a bit afraid of conscience.
If God is Universal Truth, He cannot look hardly upon us for being true
to ourselves. And as to people, we shall just hold up our heads; I think
that they generally take you at your own valuation. But, anyway, Society
does not much matter. We shan't want those who don't want us--you may
be sure. I hope he will divorce her quickly--there is nobody much to be
hurt by that except you and Cis; but if he doesn't--it can't be helped.
I don't think she has anything; but with my six hundred, and what I can
make, even if we have to live abroad, we shall be all right for money.
You have been awfully good to me always, Gordy, and I am very grieved to
hurt you, and still more sorry if you think I am being ungrateful;
but when one feels as I do--body and soul and spirit--there isn't any
question; there wouldn't be if death itself stood in the way. If you
receive this, we shall be gone together; I will write to you from
wherever we pitch our tent, and, of course, I shall write to Cicely.
But will you please tell Mrs. Doone and Sylvia, and give them my love
if they still care to have it. Good-bye, dear Gordy. I believe you would
have done the same, if you had been I. Always your affectionate--MARK."

In all those preparations he forgot nothing, employing every minute of
the few hours in a sort of methodic exaltation. The last thing before
setting out he took the damp cloths off his 'bull-man.' Into the face of
the monster there had come of late a hungry, yearning look. The artist
in him had done his