That night, Herminia Barton went up sadly to her own bed-room. It
was the very last night that Dolores was to sleep under the same
roof with her mother. On the morrow, she meant to remove to Sir
Anthony Merrick's.
As soon as Herminia had closed the door, she sat down to her
writing-table and began to write. Her pen moved of itself. And
this was her letter:--
When she had finished that note, and folded it reverently with
kisses and tears, she wrote the second one in a firm hand for the
formal evidence. Then she put on a fresh white dress, as pure as her
own soul, like the one she had worn on the night of her self-made
bridal with Alan Merrick. In her bosom she fastened two innocent
white roses from Walter Brydges's bouquet, arranging them with
studious care very daintily before
