“And I must do something more. I think I must not even write to you. While I am here I must have no connection with you. It would be incomplete without that. One letter you must send me, when you have thought this over, to say that you agree with me, if you can. “And if you cannot? I must do it all the same. “Do you remember telling me of Magda’s cry? That, too, tells me to do it. I should be stunted, selfish, if I did not. “Ah, Frank, my darling, be good to me. I long for you every day, and it is going to be so awfully dreary without you. “HELEN. “I walked through the wood to-day where you set the hare free. I shall walk there every day. And I looked at the geological map with the ‘auriferous reef in it. Martin is here.” The letter was not difficult to write, though the final determination to write it was so hard that when it came to the paper and ink she sat long with pen undipped, unable to begin. But the memory of the bewildered misery in her father’s face that morning as he sat looking out of the window in the Room had given her a real sense of responsibility towards him. It was her business to find some anodyne for that. Perhaps the proof before his eyes, kept there day after day and week after week, that she wanted to do her best, might serve. Anyhow, at the moment it had awakened his humanity and his fatherhood; his hand had reached to her across the gulf; two puzzled, blind folk had clasped hands in the darkness. Nor was the waiting for Frank’s answer difficult,--she knew him so well. And she was not disappointed here; the very brevity of the reply was honey to her. “DEAREST,--You must do as you must do. Magda says so, and so do I. But I am rather low, though she tells me not to be. “FRANK.”