His own guilty conscience would tell him why he was
renounced.
She took off the rose-colored dress in which she had arrayed herself to
meet him, and folded it away in a drawer of her wardrobe, together with
every other adornment she had worn that night. They would always be to
her painful reminders of that terrible season of anguish and despair.
When all were in, she shut them away from her sight, turned the key upon
them, and flung it far out of the window.
Then she opened her writing desk, and took out all the little notes he
had ever written to her, read them all over, and holding them one by one
to the blaze of the lamp, watched them with a sort of stony calmness
until they shrivelled and fell in ashes, black as her hopes, to the
floor. Then his gifts; a few simple things. These she did not look at;
she put them hastily into a box, sealed them up, and wrote his address
on the cover.
The last task was the hardest. She must write him a note, telling him
that all was over between them. The gray light of a clouded morning found
her making the effort. But for a long time her pen refused to move; her
hand seemed powerless. She felt weak and helpless as a very infant. But
it was done at last, and she read it over, wondering that she was alive
to read it:
"MR.
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