So went the letter.

When Amy next appeared she was in another mood. Her eyes were red and her hair was in disorder. She had been lying now on the bed, now on the floor, pulling at her hair, and stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth.

“Well, what is the news?” asked Miss Dasomma, as kindly as she could speak, and as if she saw nothing peculiar in her appearance.

“You must excuse me,” replied Amy, with the stiffness of a woman of the world resenting intrusion. “Do not think me unkind, but there is positively nothing in the letter that would interest anyone but me.”

Miss Dasomma said nothing more. Perhaps she was going to escape without further questioning! And though she was anxious about what the letter might have contained to have put the poor girl in such a state, she would not risk the asking of a single question more.

The solemn fact was that his letter, in conjunction with the word Miss Dasomma let slip, had at last begun to open Amy’s eyes a little to the real character of her husband. She herself had seen a good deal of his family, and found it hard to believe they would treat him unkindly. Something must be at the root of it all, something she did not know about, the same thing that made him take to the garret and hide there! The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he had done something hideously wrong.

From the first glimmer of certainty as to the uncertain facts, she saw with absolute clearness what she must do. There was that in the tone of the letter also, which, while it distressed her more than she was willing to allow, strengthened her determination—especially the way in which he spoke of his mother, for she not only remembered her kindness at Burcliff, but loved the memory of her own mother with her whole bright soul. But what troubled her most of all was that he should be so careless about the wrong he had done, whatever it was. “I must know all about it!” she said to herself, “or how am I to help him?” It seemed to her the most natural thing that when one has done a wrong, he should confess it—thus having done with it, disowning and casting away the cursed thing. But this Cornelius did not seem inclined to do! She was bound to learn the truth of the thing.

By degrees her mind grew calm in settled resolve. Should she tell Miss Dasomma what was in her thoughts? Neither she nor Hester had trusted her with what they knew. Need she trust them? She must take her own way in silence, for they would be certain to oppose it. Could they be trying to keep her and Corney apart?

All the indignant strength and unalterable determination of the little woman rose in arms. She would see who could keep them apart now that she had made up her mind! She had money of her own—and there was the jewellry Corney had given her! It must be valuable, for Corney hated fake things. She would walk her way, work her way, or beg her way if necessary, but nothing would keep her from Corney!