"He's
not here, Miss," she was told, and then, "oh, Miss, they've took him away.
The Sergeant's come for him and took him. And we hear--" There had been no
stopping her, but by Sanchia's way.
She walked into the cottage and put up her veil. She showed a pale, sad
face. "How dreadful! I must write a note. Will you let me write here, and
leave it with you--to give him when he comes?"
She wrote in pencil, "My dear Struan, I am very sorry. You made me angry,
but I'm sorry now. I came to say Good-bye, as I am going away. Mrs. Benson
is with me. See Mr. Menzies when you can. He has promised to help you,
and, of course, I will too, if I can.--Yours always, S. J. P." With the
fold of the envelope to her tongue she paused, reflective. Then she took
the note out again, read it over, and ran her pencil through the last two
letters of her signature. And taking two Parma violets from the knot at
her breast--a recent gift from Wanless--she put them within the paper.
Thus she did deliberately--as the Fates would have her. Addressing "Mr. S.
Clyde, by Mrs. Broughton," she gave her letter in charge. "Be sure to give
it him when he comes back," she said. Then she and her protector were
driven to the station.
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