“Do I hear you aright--he scoffed at my love; he destroyed my letter? Just Heaven, help me to bear this pain!” She fell prone to the floor, like one stricken with death. CHAPTER VI. THE LETTERS TIED WITH BLUE RIBBON. Sir Harold Annesley had been in England so short a time that he had made few friends, and not even these had any particular claim upon him. He had no reason to consider them; he had no explanations to make. Was he of any importance, after all? There would be a ripple on society’s water when the story was given out that his engagement to Lady Elaine Seabright was broken; then all would become calm again. He might be condemned, but he did not care for that. He would be far away, where no blame could reach his ears. When Colonel Greyson had gone he heaved a deep sigh of relief. The colonel was well-meaning, but he did not understand. It was impossible for him to understand. “I have said good-by to my old friend,” thought Sir Harold, “and I am glad of it. One bitter parting at least is over, and, in dread of his interference, I will hasten my movements.” There was determination in every line of his face, in every motion of his strong figure. “No,” he repeated again and again, “the unhappy affair shall not be patched up by any one. I would rather die than marry a woman in whom I have not absolute faith and trust. It is perhaps hard upon Lady Elaine that she has been misunderstood by me. I have idealized a creature of clay, and because the veil is torn from my eyes she must suffer--if she has heart enough to understand!” The bitter words escaped him in accents of scorn. Then he held his hands toward heaven and cried: “Merciful God, forgive me, if I am wronging her! Oh, my darling! my darling!” The strong man wept, and it seemed to him that his tears must be tears of blood! For an hour he scarcely moved. Then he summoned his valet, who came to him with anxious eyes. “Stimson,” Sir Harold said, “how long have you served me?” The valet hardly understood the question, but he answered: “Nine years, Sir Harold.” “And you have always been faithful to me and satisfied with your position?” “I have no wish to change it,” the valet said. “I would like to die in your service, Sir Harold.” “I believe you, Stimson, I believe you.” The young baronet paced the floor for a minute, then he went on: “I am leaving Annesley Park, Stimson, at once. I do not know whither I am going. The prospect to any one but myself cannot be very encouraging, because I have no intention of ever coming back again.” The valet was startled. “Under the circumstances,” his master continued, “I cannot ask you to share my exile, Stimson--I can ask no one--and I think that I shall be best alone.” “Let me go with you, Sir Harold,” the valet begged. “I have no friends, no relations, in England; I have no ties, and I care for nothing, so long as I am with you.” The baronet was visibly affected.