Just in time! The postman was emptying it. She gave him the letter, and walked back with a dragging step. "That is done!" she murmured, and she dropped into an arm-chair, suddenly nerveless. Nothing seemed left that was worth doing. Dick Maurice had passed out of her life; and all looked dead. "How will he take it? Oh, how will he take it?" she asked again and again. "Will it break his heart? If only there wasn't that dreadful Jane! I think I could put up with other things. But—Jane!—Jane!" Mrs. Winton presently found her thus, pale and listless. "The letter is gone," was all Doris said. Mrs. Winton stooped to kiss her forehead, and the girl moved restlessly aside. "Don't, please!" she entreated. "I'm so tired! Mother, you won't like it, but I put a few more words. I asked him not to mind too much." "Was that wise?" "Yes. I'd rather he shouldn't hate me." The words ended in a short catch of her breath. "Dear Doris—by-and by—" "Oh, please don't. Mother, please leave me alone. It is done; and I feel—horrid. It is Dick that I am miserable about. I know what it will mean to him. But I'd rather not talk—any more." CHAPTER XXXIV Foiled ONE hour more, and Richard Maurice would be off to Lynnbrooke,—to ask and claim his Doris. He had reached his London hotel the evening before; and two days after he was due in Edinburgh. He was anxious and in suspense, of course; that goes without saying. But the tone of his mind was pitched in high hope and confidence; nay, certainty. He had no doubt of results. His plan was to stay at Lynnbrooke Inn for a couple of nights; thus allowing as much time as possible for interviews with Doris and her parents,—also for seeing the Squire. He recognised that open speech with the latter had become a necessity. Mr. Stirling might be "only a friend," but he had been a most generous friend; and while Maurice was, without question, free to decide for himself, he was, also without question, indebted in no common degree to his benefactor. The past could not be ignored. His going at all to Lynnbrooke was an act of revolt; and though he did not intend to be prevented, he did intend to explain and apologise. That he would meet with difficulties was only to be expected. Doris had prepared him for them. Mr. Winton would probably be in opposition; and Mrs. Winton would inevitably be so. They would want for their only child a husband of unexceptionable parentage; and who could wonder? Not Maurice!—who saw the objections to himself almost as clearly as Mrs. Winton did. Like most people without "descent," he valued it less than do those who rejoice in a pedigree; yet he could estimate their side of the question. But with regard to Doris herself he had no shadow of doubt. He loved her; she loved him; and, as he had said, they together might face a world in opposition. In his young strong confidence, he smiled at the thought. So long as each was true to the other, nothing could ultimately separate them.