She had eaten a little of the omelet, and had drunk eagerly of the tea.  They had gone up again to take the tray down.  She had returned to the bed.  She was not asleep—­only dull and heavy.  Made no remark.  Looked clean worn out.  We left her a light; and we let her be.  Such was the report.  After listening to it, without making any remark, Geoffrey filled a second pipe, and resumed his walk.  The time wore on.  It began to feel chilly in the garden.  The rising wind swept audibly over the open lands round the cottage; the stars twinkled their last; nothing was to be seen overhead but the black void of night.  More rain coming.  Geoffrey went indoors.

An evening newspaper was on the dining-room table.  The candles were lit.  He sat down, and tried to read.  No!  There was nothing in the newspaper that he cared about.  The time for hearing from the lawyer was drawing nearer and nearer.  Reading was of no use.  Sitting still was of no use.  He got up, and went out in the front of the cottage—­strolled to the gate—­opened it—­and looked idly up and down the road.

But one living creature was visible by the light of the gas-lamp over the gate.  The creature came nearer, and proved to be the postman going his last round, with the last delivery for the night.  He came up to the gate with a letter in his hand.

“The Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn?”

“All right.”

He took the letter from the postman, and went back into the dining-room.  Looking at the address by the light of the candles, he recognized the handwriting of Mrs. Glenarm.  “To congratulate me on my marriage!” he said to himself, bitterly, and opened the letter.

Mrs. Glenarm’s congratulations were expressed in these terms: 

“MY ADORED GEOFFREY,—­I have heard all.  My beloved one! my own! you are sacrificed to the vilest wretch that walks the earth, and I have lost you!  How is it that I live after hearing it?  How is it that I can think, and write, with my brain on fire, and my heart broken!  Oh, my angel, there is a purpose that supports me—­pure, beautiful, worthy of us both.  I live, Geoffrey—­I live to dedicate myself to the adored idea of You.  My hero! my first, last, love!  I will marry no other man.  I will live and die—­I vow it solemnly on my bended knees—­I will live and die true to You.  I am your Spiritual Wife.  My beloved Geoffrey! she can’t come between us, there—­she can never rob you of my heart’s unalterable fidelity, of my soul’s unearthly devotion.  I am your Spiritual Wife!  Oh, the blameless luxury of writing those words!  Write back to me, beloved one, and say you feel it too.  Vow it, idol of my heart, as I have vowed it.  Unalterable fidelity! unearthly devotion!  Never, never will I be the wife of any other man!  Never, never will I forgive the woman who has come between us!  Yours ever and only; yours with the stainless passion that burns on the altar of the heart; yours, yours, yours—­E.  G.”