dining-room, she made an excuse to go to her room, and there sat for a long time, deeply reflecting.  Should she write to Walter?  Would it be judicious to explain Flockart’s visit, and how he had urged their reconciliation?  If she wrote, would it lower her dignity in her lover’s eyes?  That was the great problem which now troubled her.  She sat staring before her undecided.  She recalled all that Flockart had told her.  He was the emissary of Lady Heyburn without a doubt.  The girl had told him openly of her decision to speak the truth and expose him, but he had only laughed at her.  Alas! she knew his true character, unscrupulous and pitiless.  But she placed him aside.

Recollection of Walter—­the man who had held her so often in his arms and pressed his hot lips to hers, the man who was her father’s firm friend and whose uprightness and honesty of purpose she had ever admired—­crowded upon her.  Should she write to him?  Rigid and staring, she sat in her chair, her little white hands clenched, as she tried to summon courage.  It had been she who had written declaring that their secret engagement must be broken, she who had condemned herself.  Therefore, had she not a right to satisfy that longing she had had through months, the longing to write to him once again.  The thought decided her; and, going to the table whereon the lamp was burning, she sat down, and after some reflection, penned a letter as follows:—­

“MY SWEETHEART, MY DARLING, MY OWN, MY SOUL—­MINE—­ONLY MINE,—­I am wondering how and where you are!  True, I wrote you a cruel letter; but it was imperative, and under the force of circumstance.  I am full of regrets, and I only wish with all my heart that I might kiss you once again, and press you in my arms as I used to do.

“But how are you?  I have had you before my eyes to-night, and I feel quite sure that at this very moment you are thinking of me.  You must know that I love you dearly.  You gave me your heart, and it shall not belong to any other.  I have tried to be brave and courageous; but, alas!  I have failed.  I love you, my darling, and I must see you soon—­very soon.

“Mr. Flockart came to see me to-day and says that you expressed to him a desire to meet me again.  Gratify that desire when you will, and you will find your Gabrielle just the same—­longing ever to see you, living with only the memories of your dear face.

“Can you doubt of my great, great love for you?  You never wrote in reply to my letter, though I have waited for months.  I know my letter was a cruel one, and to you quite unwarranted; but I had a reason for writing it, and the reason was because I felt that I ought not to deceive you any longer.

“You see, darling, I am frank and open.  Yes, I have deceived you.  I am terribly ashamed and downhearted.  I have tried to conceal my grief, even from you; but it is impossible.  I love you as much as I ever loved you, and I swear to you that I have never once wavered.