"If you will not come to me before you quit England for the West Indies," she wrote, "you will have put away from both of us for ever any prospect of our being aught but strangers. I have been a wicked, weak girl, perhaps, though never have I regarded myself as such until now, and I should have told you all that I had done on the night when you parted from me; then, at least, you would have forgiven me. Now, I ask you, I beseech you, to come to me at once on receipt of this; I implore you to do so on the strength of the love that has been between us, and in memory of the love of our early years. If you will do that, then--then--you shall know all. No action on my part shall be hidden from you." "Will he come?" she said, "will he come?" And, thinking of the letter she had written, she told herself that he would do so. Surely he would! Meanwhile, below, Mrs. Pottle was engaged in the homely occupation of sewing and of ironing, and of other feminine pursuits that are dear to the hearts of women of her class. Upon a huge table were spread out a number of garments such as would befit a young lady who was about to make a clandestine marriage--a marriage which, since it must necessarily be without the accompaniment of a large and fashionable gathering of friends, would be but simple, yet a ceremony in which the bride would, nevertheless, be expected to make a proper appearance. To wit, there was a flowered brocade covered with Italian posies, myrtles, jessamine sprigs, and pinks; as well as a lace apron and stomacher, more than one fan, and several articles of _lingerie_. And upon another table was an enormous hat such as Gainsborough loved to paint, and with which an earlier master, Rembrandt, frequently adorned the pictures of his cavaliers. "Fit for any lady to go to the altar in," Mrs. Pottle muttered to herself as she fingered all these things. "Fit even for the Princess 'Melie. And worth money too--good money; that will be of use, come what come may. Worth money; ay! that's something; and I've 'ad fifty guineas from Bufton--damn him!--I'll get no more arter he's led his bride to church to-morrow." Then she walked to a cupboard and, taking out a thick black bottle and a small glass, helped herself to a dram, old customs of her stormy seafaring life being strong upon her still; while, as she drank so she still continued to muse, sitting down near all this finery, and occasionally regarding it. "P'r'aps, arter all," she murmured, "I done wrong; p'r'aps I oughter not to--to let 'er 'ave him. Yet 'er 'art's on it. 'I will go through with it,' she said last night--only last night 'though the devil stood a-tween him and me. You know from the time I come back from Tunbridge I was set upon it.' And so she 'ave been set upon it. Ah, well! he oughter to 'ave 'er. And now he must 'ave 'er. Well, so be it." After which, her eye falling again upon the clothes laid out near her, she murmured, "Worth money; that's something."