“But I can, perhaps, make you understand that I love you, dearly—­love you enough to give myself to you—­love you enough to give you up forever.

“And it is to consider what is best, what to do, that I am going away quietly somewhere by myself to think it all out once more—­and to come to a final decision before the first of June.

“I want to search my heart, and let God search it for any secret selfishness and unworthiness that might sway me in my choice—­any overmastering love for you that might blind me.  When I know myself, you shall know me.  Until then I shall not write you; but sometime before the first of June—­or on that day, you shall know and I shall know how I have decided wherein I may best serve you—­whether by giving or withholding—­whether by accepting or refusing forever all that I care for in the world—­you, Louis, and the love you have given me.

“VALERIE WEST.”

She sealed and directed this, laid it beside the other, and summoned the maid: 

“Have these sent at once to Ashuelyn,” she said; “let Jimmy go on his bicycle.  Are my things ready?  Is the buck-board still there?  Then I will leave a note for the Countess.”

And she scribbled hastily: 

“HELENE DEAR:  I’ve got to go to town in a hurry on matters of importance, and so I am taking a very unceremonious leave of you and of your delightful house.

“They’ll tell you I got lost in the woods last night, and I did.  It was too stupid of me; but no harm came of it—­only a little embarrassment in accepting a night’s shelter at Ashuelyn among people who were everything that was hospitable, but who must have been anything but delighted to entertain me.

“In a few weeks I shall write you again.  I have not exactly decided what to do this summer.  I may go abroad for a vacation as I have saved enough to do so in an economical manner; and I should love to see the French cathedrals.  Perhaps, if I so decide, you might be persuaded to go with me.

“However, it is too early to plan yet.  A matter of utmost importance is going to keep me busy and secluded for a week or so.  After that I shall come to some definite decision; and then you shall hear from me.

“In the meanwhile—­I have enjoyed Estwich and you immensely.  It was kind and dear of you to ask me.  I shall never forget my visit.

“Good-bye, Helene dear.

“VALERIE WEST.”

This note she left on Helene’s dresser, then ran downstairs and sprang into the buck-board.

They had plenty of time to catch the train; and on the train she had plenty of leisure for reflection.  But she could not seem to think; a confused sensation of excitement invaded her mind and she sat in her velvet armed chair alternately shivering with the memory of Cardemon’s villainy, and quivering under the recollection of her night at Ashuelyn.

Rita was not at home when she came into their little apartment.  The parrot greeted her, flapping his brilliant wings and shrieking from his perch; the goldfish goggled his eyes and swam ’round and ’round.  She stood still in the centre of her room looking vacantly about her.  An immense, overwhelming sense of loneliness came over her; she turned as the rush of tears blinded her and flung herself full length among the pillows of her bed.