God has marked me down to receive through my heart the sharpest, most venomous arrow of His cruelty. I am the chosen vessel of His wrath. I love Ruddington; and he is close at hand, while the light is dying out of heaven, and I am so cold and lonely. He has sped over land and sea, on fire with love: and the love is not for me. The last of the red is gone from the sky. Twelve hours before to-morrow’s dawn. Twelve hours of sleepless darkness. Twelve hours of solitary vigil to prepare me for meeting him to-morrow in the merry sunlight, and for draining my cup of bitterness to its black dregs. I could almost laugh--a laugh as hard as iron, as bitter as a black frost. If there be saints in heaven I challenge them to look at me now. Come, good people, I pray you of your charity: a De Profundis, if you please! _Seven o’clock_. No need to wait for to-morrow. It is to be to-night. It is to be now. I shall write this short page to steady my nerves, to rally my wits, to cool my blood. Something is in the wind. Twenty minutes ago, when I told Susan that I should not need her again till dinner-time, she made pretence of tidying the room, as I was staring into the fire. She did not know that she was reflected in the glass. I saw her stand stock still and gaze at my face with the gaze of one who gazes for the last time. She could not have gazed at me more desperately, if there had been a hangman waiting at the door to take one of us away. Suddenly her cheeks shone with a drench of tears. She covered her face with her hands, and stumbled through the doorway. I was sick of scenes. And, with such an anguish as mine, I felt a contempt for Susan’s mere ups and downs. So I pretended not to see or hear, and I didn’t follow till ten minutes ago. Susan is not in the house. Georgette says she went out as soon as she came downstairs. She thinks Susan has only gone for a breath of sea air before dinner. It is outrageous, it is unendurable, it is wicked, it is cruel. They are meeting now. What note or what message did Susan leave this morning at the hotel? Not mine! I am a fool, a simpleton, I have less sense than a little child. I can guess the place. It will be on the beach between here and the beck. They are meeting now. He is holding her in his arms. She will be like potter’s clay in his hands. His ardent masterfulness will flick aside her doubts and fears like grains of sand. Her wits will fly away from her like chaff before the wind. There will be no Susan there save a girlish form for him to hold, a burning face for him to kiss, and a childish voice to tell him about me and my letters. And to-morrow---- Unendurable is the word. Endure it I will not. I refuse to be flouted, and disobeyed, and made a fool of, and shamed. Susan is my maid. I don’t allow followers, whoever they may be. Or, rather, I allow them in honest daylight, and at times appointed. Not on the sly. Not in the dark. I am going out.