They stood close to each other, hand in hand, looking down at the dark flow.
‘If I had not met you, Wilfrid,’ she said, or whispered, ‘I think my end must have been there—there, below us. I have often come here at night. It is always a lonely place, and at high tide the water is deep.’
His hand closed upon hers with rescuing force.
‘I am carrying a letter,’ Emily continued, ‘that I was going to post before I went in. I will give it you now, and I am glad of the opportunity; it seems safer. I have written what I feel I could never say to you. Read it and destroy it, and never speak of what it contains.’
She gave him the letter, and then he walked with her homewards.
On the morrow, shortly after breakfast, he was sitting in his study, when a knock came at the door. He bade enter, and it
