He pushed the letter hurriedly into her trembling hand, and before she could speak hurried from the room, leaving her alone to read the last dying message of her son--the message and the confession that was to deal the most crushing blow that ever fell with the suddenness of a lightning bolt on a loving mother’s heart. CHAPTER XVII. MRS. MURRAY’S ANGUISH. Italy Vale waited with burning impatience for Mr. Gardner’s decision. The day waned to its close, the purple shades of early twilight darkened, and the silver sickle of a new moon rose in the opal sky, still no word, no answer. She had been pacing the floor of her room for hours with a pale face and a wildly throbbing heart. “Why does he delay like this when he knows how impatient I am? Is it possible he can have forgotten?” she cried resentfully, pushing back the dark curls from her brow that burned with a feverish heat. At that moment Mrs. Mays tapped lightly on the door. “He is come,” she thought gladly, and sprang to open it. “Miss Vale,” said the kindly landlady, “there is a messenger-boy below from a law-office wishing to see you.” With a low cry of something like terror, Italy started back, her face paling to a ghastly hue. She thought of what Isabel Severn had told her about the office-boy at Mr. Gardner’s, who was watching for her face and would know it anywhere again. “I must not let him see me,” she told herself wildly. “Why, what is the matter, my dear young lady? You seem to be frightened!” exclaimed Mrs. Mays, in a tone of surprise that put Italy quickly upon her guard. She exclaimed with a groan: “Oh, no, Mrs. Mays, I am not frightened, but I have a severe attack of facial neuralgia, and am suffering too much to see any one, or at least a stranger. Will you not do me the kindness to go down and tell the boy that if he has a letter or message for me he must deliver it to you?” “Certainly, my dear,” and she bustled away, while Italy murmured bitterly: “Mr. Gardner refuses my prayer. That is why he sends a message instead of coming himself. He cannot meet my reproaches.” She was right, for presently Mrs. Mays returned with a letter, saying: “The boy went away without waiting for an answer.” Then, seeing that the young girl preferred to be alone, she withdrew, after saying kindly: “If there is anything I can do for your dreadful neuralgia, ring your bell, and I will come at once.” Italy thanked her, with a blush stealing over her face at the falsehood she had uttered. “To what depths I have fallen in this cruel necessity for caution,” she thought sadly, and tore open her note. She read: “MY DEAR MISS VALE: After a careful review in my mind of all that I know and all that you said to me yesterday morning, my opinion of the case remains unchanged.