It was a letter, beginning—­’I cannot.’

Sylvia perused it carefully, and stood in thought.

‘After all?’ were the words with which she broke silence.  They were neither reproachful nor regretful, but expressed grave interest.

‘In the night,’ said Sidwell, ’I wrote to father, but I shall not give him the letter.  Before it was finished, I knew that I must write this.  There’s no more to be said, dear.  You will go abroad without me—­at all events for the present.’

‘If that is your resolve,’ answered the other, quietly, ’I shall keep my word, and only do what I can to aid it.’  She sat down shielding her eyes from the sunlight with a Japanese fan.  ’After all, Sidwell, there’s much to be said for a purpose formed on such a morning as this; one can’t help distrusting the midnight.’

Sidwell was lying back in a low chair, her eyes turned to the woody hills on the far side of the Exe.

‘There’s one thing I should like to say,’ her friend pursued.  ’It struck me as curious that you were not at all affected, by what to me would have been the one insuperable difficulty.’

‘I know what you mean—­the legacy.’

‘Yes.  It still seems to you of no significance?’

‘Of very little,’ Sidwell answered wearily, letting her eyelids droop.

’Then we won’t talk about it.  From the higher point of view, I believe you are right; but—­still let it rest.’

In the afternoon, Sidwell penned the following lines which she enclosed in an envelope and placed on the study table, when her father was absent.

’The long letter which I promised you, dear father, is needless.  I have to-day sent Mr. Peak a reply which closes our correspondence.  I am sure he will not write again; if he were to do so, I should not answer.

’I have given up my intention of going away with Sylvia.  Later, perhaps, I shall wish to join her somewhere on the Continent, but by that time you will be in no concern about me.’

To this Mr. Warricombe replied only with the joyous smile which greeted his daughter at their next meeting.  Mrs. Warricombe remained in ignorance of the ominous shadow which had passed over her house.  At present, she was greatly interested in the coming marriage of the Rev. Bruno Chilvers, whom she tried not to forgive for having disappointed her secret hope.

Martin had finally driven into the background those uneasy questionings, which at one time it seemed likely that Godwin Peak would rather accentuate than silence.  With Sidwell, he could never again touch on such topics.  If he were still conscious of a postponed debate, the adjournment was sine die.  Martin rested in the faith that, without effort of his own, the mysteries of life and time would ere long be revealed to him.

CHAPTER III