She sat awhile in woful reverie upon the edge of the bed, and then
crossed the room to a beautiful writing-desk which Miss Ludington had
given her. She opened it, and, taking out several sheets of paper,
prepared to write. "If I had not run upstairs that moment," she murmured,
"I must have told him the whole horrible story. But it is better this
way. I believe it would have killed me to see the look on his face. Oh,
my darling, my darling! what will you think of me when you know?" and
then she sat down to write.
She stopped so many times to cry over it that it was midnight when the
writing was finished. It was a letter, and the superscription read as
follows:--
"To my lover, Paul, who will never love me any mere after he reads this,
but whom I shall love for ever:--
"This letter will explain to you why my room is empty this morning. I
could stand it no longer: to be loved and almost worshipped, by those
whom I was basely deceiving. And so I have fled. You will never see me or
hear from me again, and you will never want to after you have read this
letter.
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