I waited, hoping if I did not press her she would perhaps begin to confide in me of her own accord.  But she sat quite silent, looking intensely miserable and staring out into space before her.  I felt a vague sense of fear and anxiety growing up in me.

“Dearest, do tell me what is the matter,” I said, drawing her close up to me and kissing her white lips.

“Don’t let us make ourselves miserable for nothing, like stupid people one reads about.  Life has everything in it for us.  Let us be happy in it and enjoy it.”

Viola burst into a storm of tears against my neck and sobbed in a heart-breaking way for some minutes.

“Is it that you have ceased to love me, that you feel your own passion is over?” I asked gently.

“No, certainly not that.”

“Is it that you think I want to, or ought to be free from you?”

“No, not that.”

“Well, tell me what it is.”

“I can’t.  I think we shall be happy again, after the year, if you let me come back to you.”

I felt my anger grow up again.

“I am not going to let you leave me.  I absolutely forbid it.  Don’t let us talk about it any more or speak of it again unless you are ready to tell me your reason.”

There was a long silence, broken only by her sobs.

“Viola.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do not worry any more.  You can’t go, so it is settled.  Nothing can hurt us while we remain together.”

Viola did not say anything, but she ceased to cry and kissed me and lay still in my arms.

There was some minutes’ silence, then I said: 

“Let’s go up to bed.  Sleep will do you good.  You look tired and exhausted to the last degree.”

We went upstairs, and that night she seemed to fall asleep in my arms quickly and easily.  I lay awake, as hour after hour passed, wondering what this strange fancy could be that was torturing her.

At last, between three and four in the morning, I fell asleep and did not wake again till the clock struck nine on the little table beside me.

The sun was streaming into the room, and I sat up wide awake.  The place beside me was empty.  I looked round the room.  I was quite alone.  Remembering our conversation of last night and Viola’s strange manner, a vague apprehension came over me, and my heart beat nervously.  It was very unusual for Viola to be up first.  She generally lay in bed till the last moment, and always dissuaded me from getting up till I insisted on doing so.  I sprang up now and went over to the toilet-table.  On the back of her brushes lay a note addressed to me in her handwriting.  Before I took it up I felt instinctively she had left me.  For a moment I could not open it.  My heart beat so violently that it seemed impossible to breathe, a thick mist came over my eyes.  I took up the note and paced up and down the room for a few minutes before I could open it.