Then came long-drawn-out procedure in the Mexican courts.  I had documents to write and sign, affidavits to make out, interrogations to answer; but finally the Law was satisfied.  I was acquitted.  I heard the decision with a curious feeling.  How little it seemed to matter beside the inner knowledge of my heart, that Hop Lee himself had been with me, and knew and understood.

One afternoon then, after the satisfying of nearly endless claims upon me, I looked at the long, flat, rolling sea with its reefs of palms for the last time, and took the train northwards away from Tampico.

The year was not yet over, but I was going back to be in London, or very near it.  For would she not write first to my club? and here it took at least three weeks for my letters sent on from the club to reach me.

I did not wish to live actually in town yet till Viola joined me, to advertise our separation, unnecessarily, to our friends, but I thought I would live practically hidden somewhere near, so that letters could reach me from London the same day.

Within a month I was back in London and went first of all to call for letters.  Amongst them I recognised instantly there was not one from Viola.  And, depressed and disappointed, I went down into the country, to work.

Work, the dear mistress of an artist’s life, the one that never leaves him but is there always waiting to receive him back to her, to console him in her arms for all the wounds that love has made.

Month after month went by and I worked at the painting, turning into finished pictures the many sketches life with Suzee had given me.

As I worked on some of these a wave of sad reflection would sweep over me, of memory of her, but the recollection of the deceit and lies in which her love for me had been always cloaked came with that memory and blunted the poignant edge of it.

Then suddenly one morning came a letter from Viola, and my heart seemed at the sight of it to fly upwards and forwards to the future as a swallow let out of a darkened room flies upwards and outwards with a swift rush to the open light.

    “Bletchner’s Hotel, Paris.”  “If you wish, you may come to me.”

That was all, but it was enough.  Within a few moments I was ready for departure.  For weeks a little case had stood ready packed against the wall of my room.  All else was left standing.

I went to town, caught the morning train to Dover, and crossed to Calais.

I reached Paris finally about six and drove to a hotel.  I dined in my travelling clothes in the restaurant, and then went up to my room to dress.  What keen life I felt in all my veins!  How strongly all the power of living had come back to me!  Ordinarily, when we are well we get so accustomed to our health and strength we are hardly aware of either, but there are times when we become supremely conscious of both, as I was now.  As I walked about my small apartment