And then you began to call at Mrs Beresford’s two and three times a week and to meet me in the park, until that happy day came when you asked me if I would leave my place and be your housekeeper in Grosvenor Square. I thought it was a grand rise for me, and wrote and told my people so; but even then I didn’t guess at what you meant or that you loved me in _that_ way. Ilfracombe, you _know_ I was an innocent, good girl when I first came to this house, and that I shouldn’t have ever been otherwise had you not persuaded me that if our hearts were truly each others our marriage would be as lasting as if we had gone to church together. I believed you. I knew it was wrong, but I loved you and I believed you. Oh, my own only darling, don’t desert me now. What is to become of me if you do? I can’t go back to my own people. I am no longer fit to associate with them. You have raised me to the dignity of your companionship. You have unfitted me for country life, and how can I go out to service again? Who would take me? Everybody knows our history. I have no character. Darling, do you remember the time when you had the typhoid fever and were so ill, we thought that you would die. Oh, what a fearful time that was. And when you recovered you were going to marry me, at least you said so, and I was so happy, and yet so afraid of what your family would think. But you had quite made up your mind about it, till Mr Sterndale heard you mention the subject and talked you out of it. You never told me, but I guessed it all the same. I never reproached you for it, did I? or reminded you of your promise. I knew I was no fit wife for you--only fit to love and serve you as I have done, gladly and faithfully. How can you marry another woman when I have been your wife for three long, happy years? Won’t the remembrance of me come between you and her? Won’t you often think of the many, many times you have declared you should never think of marrying whilst I lived--that I was your wife to all intents and purposes, and that any other woman would seem an interloper. Oh, Ilfracombe, do try and remember all these things before you perpetrate an action for which you will reproach yourself all your life. I know your nature. Who should know it so well as I? You are weak and easily led, but you are sensitive and generous, and I know you will not forget me easily. Dearest, write to me and tell me it is a lie, and I will serve you all my life as no servant and no wife will ever do. For you are far more than a husband to me. You are my world and my all--my one friend--my one hope and support. Oh, Ilfracombe, don’t leave me. I live in you and your love, and if you desert me I cannot live. For God’s sake--for the sake of Heaven--for