I was conscious of a longing to escape; it was as if a fine silken cord were tightening about me. "Shall we go to Father?" I asked him. Without another word we two walked from the room. "Remember," he said to me at the door, "this is for your father. We must make believe for him, you and I." I nodded. The door closed behind us. GREEN HILL January 20 I am to be married tomorrow. It is Father's wish. He is weaker, but suffers no pain, and he recognizes us all. Twenty-four hours to my wedding. Please God that Father will never know how I dread it. Mr. John Denton is to give me away. And we are to be married from this house, with no one but the Goodriches and Mr. Denton present at the ceremony. Ceremony! The mockery of it! Dr. Denton has given me a ring. It was his Mother's, he said. I have never asked him about his Mother. I do not even know if he has told her. Nothing seems to matter very much. Father.... _Father_.... January 21 William--he has asked me to call him that--came to me this morning, and for the first time in days we talked together for more than a moment. "You are frightened," he said to me, "and nervous. You need not be." "Why--why are you marrying me?" I asked him suddenly. "Why are you marrying me?" he countered. "Father," I said, and stopped. He nodded. "I, too," he said simply. All at once I realized what a tremendous sacrifice he was making. I tried, very poorly, to tell him. "Not at all," he assured me, "I am perfectly clear as to what I am doing. And my own motives. I shall be, after all," he added, "perfectly free--except perhaps outwardly." There was something in his voice.... I got to my feet. "Very well," I said, "it is understood that we are both free? Except perhaps outwardly?" I do not think he liked it. January 21 This afternoon, at four, I was married to Dr. William Denton, in the room next door to Father's. They let me see him right afterwards; and he put his dear thin white hand on my forehead and smiled. William has moved over to the house to be near Father, and after the grave congratulations of our few friends, we were alone together in the quiet house. Married. And as far apart as Pole from Pole. Diary, you who have guarded my girlhood so jealously, it is Good-by now. I have come to the end of the chapter. And there will be nothing in my future life that I shall want to record. There is only this: Uncle John brought me today a letter. From Richard Warren. I opened it ten minutes ago, alone in my room. It was a short letter. It asked if he might come to me; it said that he had loved me all these months; it was signed, "Your Lover, Richard Warren." It came too late, dear Diary. I will lay it among your pages, with my dreams and my hopes and my sorrow. Good-by. With a very steady hand, I, by some mysterious alchemy of the Law and the Church, Mrs. William Denton, write this last word on your pages. _Finis_ CHAPTER VIII