When I had reached my own room I locked the door lest by any chance I should be disturbed; although that did not seem likely.  I lit four candles and made quite an illumination in the great, dim room.  Then I took the letter from where it had lain all day over my heart, and I set it on the table in the candle-light.  I got into a loose gown and slippers with a kind of painful, yet sweet deliberation.  Now that the moment had come for my joy I dallied with it.

My first love-letter!  I realized all at once that Theobald’s fond, boyish epistles had no real, man’s love in them.  I was only the dear companion, the sister, to him.  I was sure of it, else I had been very unhappy.

Then I took the letter and held it to the candle-light with a throbbing heart.  And this is what I read: 

     “My dear Miss Bawn,

“For a moment I forgot my white head and my years, and for that foolish presumption you must pardon me and never think less kindly of me.  From your old servant’s lips I learned the truth:  that you had a lover of your own age, whom I pray God may be worthy of you.  After all, since my dream of treasure here was but a dream, I have reconsidered my refusal, and shall join the expedition in search of mere earthly treasure.  If we never meet again, think kindly of him who would die for you.

“Your faithful friend and servant,
“Anthony Cardew.”

I was like one who has had a blow and a bad one, and I felt a curious quietness steal upon me and numb me.  Despite the sweet, warm air of the summer night I was cold.  In the quietness I heard the Abbey clock strike twelve; I heard soft stirrings in the leaves outside; a thousand little sounds which I would not have noticed at another time, that were distinct in the stillness that had come upon me.

I went on making my preparations for bed as though nothing had happened.  I omitted nothing, but all the time I felt as though I were somehow outside my body and knew the dull numbness of it as a thing apart.

When I was ready at last I unlocked the door so that the maid who came with my morning tea and my bath-water should not find it locked.  Then I blew out the candles, and, taking the letter in my hand, I crept into bed.

That night I was awakened by the crying in the shrubbery outside which I had not heard for a long time, and I listened to it, cold in the darkness, till the cocks began crowing and then it ceased.  I knew that the ghosts always came for trouble at Aghadoe, and I prayed hard that the trouble might be only mine and might spare the two dear old people.  The thought of Theobald, and that I had not even noticed the absence of his letters, stung me sharply.  What if harm should come to Theobald?  As the cocks crew and the grey turned to blue and then to gold in the room, I lay staring up at the ceiling, praying that harm had not come to Theobald, that he might be well and happy although I must be miserable for ever.