He found it hard not to say too much, and
quite as difficult not to say too little. He spent hours over this
all-important missive. At last it was finished. He read and re-read
it, searching for the slightest flaw: a fatal word or suggestion that
might create in her mind the slightest doubt as to his sincerity.
She was sure to read this letter a great many times, and always
with the view to finding something between the lines: such as pity,
resignation, an enforced conception of loyalty, or even faith! He
meant that she should find nothing there but love. It was full of
tenderness, full of hope, full of promise. He was coming to her
with a steadfast, enduring love in his heart, he wanted her now
more than ever before.
There was no mention of Challis Wrandall, and but once was Sara's
name used. There was nothing in the letter that could have betrayed
their joint secret to the most acute outsider, and yet she would
understand that he had wrung everything from Sara's lips. Her secret
was his.
He decided that it would not be safe to anticipate the letter by a
cablegram. It was not likely that any message he could send would
have the desired effect. Instead of reassuring her, in all probability
it would create fresh alarm.
Sleep did not come to him until after three o'clock. At two he got
up and deliberately added a postscript to the letter he had written.
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