* * * * *

She reread it with a melting heart—­with deep, shaking sobs.  When she first glanced through it the word “command” had burned into her proud sense; the rest passed almost unnoticed.  Now the very strangeness in it as coming from William—­the strangeness of its grave and deep emotion—­held and grappled with her.

Suddenly—­some tension of the whole being seemed to give way.  Her head sank back on the chair, she felt herself weak and trembling, yet happy as a soul new-born into a world of light.  Waking dreams passed through her brain in a feverish succession, reversing the dream of the night—­images of peace and goodness and reunion.

Minutes—­hours—­passed.  With the first light she got up feebly, found ink and paper, and began to write.

* * * * *

From Lady Tranmore to William Ashe: 

“Oh! my dearest William—­at last a gleam of hope.

“No letter this morning.  I was in despair.  Margaret reported that Kitty refused to see any one—­had locked her door, and was writing.  Yet no letter came.  I made an attempt to see Geoffrey Cliffe, who is staying at the ‘Germania,’ but he refused.  He wrote me the most audacious letter to say that an interview could only be very painful, that he and Kitty must decide for themselves, that he was waiting every hour for a final word from Kitty.  It rested with her, and with her only.  Coercion in these matters was no longer possible, and he did not suppose that either you or I would attempt it.

“And now comes this blessed note—­a respite at least! ’I am going to Verona to-night with Blanche.  Please let no one attempt to follow me.  I wish to have two days alone—­absolutely alone.  Wait here.  I will write.  K.’

“...  Margaret French, too, has just been here.  She was almost hysterical with relief and joy—­and you know what a calm, self-controlled person she is.  But her dear, round face has grown white, and her eyes behind her spectacles look as though she had not slept for nights.  She says that Kitty will not see her.  She sent her a note by Blanche to ask her to settle all the accounts, and told her that she should not say good-bye—­it would be too agitating for them both.  In two days she should hear.  Meanwhile the maid Blanche is certainly going with Kitty; and the gondola is ordered for the Milan train this evening.

“Two P.M.  There is one thing that troubles me, and I must confess it.  I did not see that across Kitty’s letter in the corner was written ’Tell nobody about this letter.’  And Polly Lyster happened to be with me when it came.  She has been au courant of the whole affair for the last fortnight—­that is, as an on-looker.  She and Kitty have only met once or twice since Mary reached Venice; but in one way or another she has been extraordinarily well informed.  And, as I told you, she came to see me directly I arrived and told