He threw himself on the couch.

‘Of course,’ she continued, ’this must remain between Emily and yourself my own relations to her must be precisely as they have been, as if I had heard nothing.  Now I think we may conclude that the poor girl is perfectly aware of what she is doing, but I no more than yourself believe her explanation.  In some way she has come to regard it as a duty to abandon you.  Let Emily once think it a duty, and she will go through with it if it costs her life; so much I know of her; so much it is easy to know, if one has the habit of observing.  May I advise you?  Do not try to see her again, but write briefly, asking her whether the mystery she spoke of in any way connects itself with you.  You will know how to put it so as to exact the answer you require.  Suppose you write such a note at once; I will send it as soon as it is ready.  You are in the torment of doubts; no misery as bad as that.  Does this plan recommend itself to you?’

‘Yes; I will write.’

’Then I will take myself off whilst you do so.  Ring the bell and send for me as soon as you are ready.  It is only half-past four; Emily will have your letter in an hour, and surely will reply at once.’

The letter was written, at greater length perhaps than was quite necessary, and Mrs. Baxendale speeded it on its way.  Wilfrid begged that he might be excused from attendance at the dinner-table.

‘By all means,’ was Mrs. Baxendale’s reply.  ’The more so that we have politicians again, and I fear you would not be in the mood to make fun of them as you did the other night.’

’Make fun of them?  No, I was in earnest.  I got interested in their subjects, and found I had more to say than I thought.’

’Well, well; that is your politeness.  Now lie down again, poor boy.  But you must promise to cat what I send you; we have quite enough illness on our hands, remember.’

‘I may have the answer before then,’ Wilfrid said, moodily.

He had; it came in less than two hours from the messenger’s departure.  He was alone when the servant brought it to him.  Emily wrote:—­

’Wilfrid,—­The change is in myself, in my heart, in my life.  Nothing have I heard against you; nothing have I imagined against you; the influence of which I spoke is in no way connected with you.  Let this, I implore you, be final.  Forgive me, forgive me, that I seem to inflict pain on you so heedlessly.  I act as I must; my purpose is unchangeable.’

Having been apprised of the messenger’s return, Mrs. Baxendale entered Wilfrid’s room as soon as she had dressed for dinner.  He sat at the table, the letter lying open before him.  As Mrs. Baxendale approached, he held the sheet to her.

‘Then my last conjecture is fruitless,’ she said, letting her hand fall.  ‘We cannot doubt her word.’

‘Doubt it?  No.  There is nothing for me but to believe all she said.’

He let his face fall upon his hands; the bitterness of fate was entering his inmost heart.