When you receive this I shall have left England with Mr. Rennes. He had arranged to go to the East for a long time. (This will show you how little he anticipated any change in _my_ plans.) When I realised that I should have to say goodbye to him, probably for ever, I found myself unequal to the trial. I could not let him go alone. It is bad for me to dwell too much on my feelings. I ought to admit, however, that I have known all along, in a sort of way, that I should have to give in _if he put the matter before me_. I dislike the talk one hears so often about inevitability--much of it is made an excuse for appalling selfishness. At the same time, I understand what is meant and feel strongly, that, while I am using my own will--I cannot use it, _with a good conscience_, otherwise. Can you follow this? In reality, I was disloyal to Mr. Rennes when I became engaged to you. I was impatient, wilful, blind. I did you both an irreparable--yes, an irreparable injustice. He must always think me fickle, and you will always condemn my weakness. I dare not ask you to forgive me. I dare not hope for contentment after such a bad beginning. One of Papa's favourite texts rings in my ears--"_Is it a small thing for you to weary men, but will ye weary my God also?_" I mustn't be insincere with God. But I do want you to see that my affection for Mr. Rennes has taken such a hold of my life that I simply cannot fight against it. I am not sentimental, as you know: I can be quite as sensible as other people about life and its obligations. I don't expect romance or joy. Had I, by any misfortune, met Mr. Rennes _after_ my marriage with you, I cannot bear to think what might have happened. It isn't nice of me to say this. It is a painful, humiliating reflection, and you won't like to think that you ever cared--even a little--for any one so unworthy. In your kindness you will say that this isn't like me. But indeed it is the real me. You have known the _un_real, sham me. Every one of my friends will be surprised. I am not surprised. And oh! the relief to be quite, quite natural and straightforward at last. Nothing to pretend, nothing to hide. I wish you had never known me. Your ideals are so noble, and you depended on me to realise a few of them. I think of the plans we made, the hopes we formed. Alas! they were not for me. I am going forward into the darkness. I don't see one ray of light. Yet I haven't one misgiving or the least fear, because I have the unalterable conviction that I am fulfilling my true destiny--whatever it may be, good or evil. All will agree that you are well rid of me. This is my consolation. You have been kind, considerate, affectionate, thoughtful always. And I have failed you.