She woke at the full day, when down on Walland Marsh all the world was awake, but here the city and the house still slept, and rose with her eyes and heart full of tragic purpose. She dressed quickly, then packed her box--all the gay, grand things she had brought to make her lover proud of her. Then she sat down at her dressing-table, and wrote-- "DEAR BERTIE,--When you get this I shall have gone for good. I see now that we were not meant for each other. I am very sorry if this gives you pain. But it is all for the best.--Your sincere friend, "JOANNA GODDEN." By this time it was half-past seven by the good gold watch which Poor Father had left her. Joanna's plan was to go downstairs, put her letter on the hall table, and bribe the girl to help her down with her box and call a cab, before any of the others appeared. She did not want to have to face Albert, with inevitable argument and possible reproaches. Her bruised heart ached too much to be able to endure any more from him--angry and wounded, it beat her side. She carried out her scheme quite successfully as far as the cab itself, and then was betrayed. Poor Father's watch, that huge emblem of worth and respectability, hanging with its gold chain and seals upon her breast, had a rare but embarrassing habit of stopping for half an hour or so, as if to rest its ancient works. This is what it had done to-day--instead of half-past seven, the time was eight, and as the girl and the cabman carried Joanna's box out of the door, Bertie appeared at the head of the steep little stairs. "Hullo, Joanna!" he called out in surprise--"Where on earth are you going?" Here was trouble. For a moment Joanna quailed, but she recovered herself and answered-- "I'm going home." "Home! What d'you mean? Whatever for?" The box was on the taxi, and the driver stood holding the door open. "I made up my mind last night. I can't stay here any longer. Thank you, Alice, you needn't wait." She put a sovereign into the girl's hand. "Come into the dining-room," said Albert. He opened the door for her and they both went in. "It's no good, Bertie--I can't stand it any longer," said Joanna, "it's as plain as a pike as you and me were never meant to marry, and the best thing to do is to say good-bye before it's too late." He stared at her in silence. "I made up my mind last night," she continued, "but I wouldn't say anything about it till this morning, and then I thought I'd slip off quiet. I've left a letter to you that I wrote." "But why--why are you going?" "Well, it's pretty plain, ain't it, that we haven't been getting along so well as we should ought since I came here. You and me were never meant for each other--we don't fit--and the last few days it's been all trouble--and there's been things I could hardly bear ..." Her voice broke.