hink of him, and know that his grief for me will be
genuine. I leave you Daisy's ring. I am not worthy to keep that, so I
give it back. I wish I could make you free from me entirely, if that
should be your wish. Perhaps some time you will be, and then when I am
nothing to you save a sad memory, you will think better of me than
you do now.

"Good-by, Richard. We shall probably never meet again. Good-by.

"ETHIE."

She did not stop to read what she had written. There was not time for
that, and taking a fresh sheet, she wrote:

"DEAR, DARLING ANDY: If all the world were as good, and kind, and true
as you, I should not be writing this letter, with my arrangements made
for flight. Richard will tell you why I go. It would take me too long. I
have been very unhappy here, though none of my wretchedness has been
caused by you. Dear Andy, if I could tell you how much I love you, and
how sorry I am to fall in your opinion, as I surely shall when you hear
what has happened. Do not hate me, Andy, and sometimes when you pray,
remember Ethie, won't you? She needs your prayers so much, for she
cannot pray herself. I do not want to be wholly bad--do not want to be
lost forever; and I have faith that God will hear you. The beautiful
consistency of your everyday life and simple trust, have been powerful
sermons to me, convincing me that there is a reality in the religion you
profess. Go on, Andy, as you have begun, and may the God whom I am not
worthy to name, bless you, and keep you, and give you every possible
good. In fancy I wind my arms around your neck, and kiss your dear, kind
face, as, with scalding tears, I write you good-by.

"Farewell, Andy, darling Andy, farewell."

Ethelyn had not wept before, but now, as Andy rose up before her with
the thought that she should see him no more, her tears poured like rain,
and blotted the sheet on which she had written to him. It hurt her more,
if possible, to lose his respect than that of any other person, and for
a half-instant she wavered in the decision. But it was too late now. The
piano was sold and delivered, and if she tarried she had no special
excuse to offer for its sale. She must carry out her plan, even though
it proved the greatest mistake of her life. So the letters were directed
and put, with Daisy's ring, in the little drawer of the bureau, where
Richard would be sure to find them when he came back. Perhaps, as Ethie
put them there, she thought how they might be the mean