Then, as to money. Eve kept it locked in a little drawer in a cabinet that stood in a corner of her bedroom, and though she went to count it, she knew what was there, almost to the last penny. Seventeen pounds, thirteen shillings and ninepence. There were a pass and cheque-book also, for she had a hundred pounds in a bank at Reading, Canterton having paid her the first instalment of her salary. Eve felt loath to consent to thinking of the money as her own. Perhaps she would return it to him, or keep it untouched, a sentimental legacy left her by this memorable summer. It was one in the morning when she lit a fresh candle and went down into the dining-room to write letters. The first was to a local house-agent and auctioneer, stating that she was leaving Basingford unexpectedly, and that the maid would deposit the keys of Orchards Corner at his office, and desiring him to arrange for a sale of all her furniture. The next letter was to Anne, the maid. Eve enclosed a month’s wages and an odd sum for current expenses, and asked her to pack two trunks and have them taken to the station and sent to the luggage office at Waterloo. Eve drew out a list of the things that were to be packed. Everything else was to be disposed of at the sale. Then came the letter to James Canterton. “I am taking the only course that seems open to me, and believe me when I say that it is best for us both. “I am leaving you the Latimer pictures, and all the studies I made at Fernhill. You will find them here, on the table, wrapped up and addressed to you. “I am giving Mr. Hanstead orders to sell all the furniture. “It is probable that I shall try to make some sort of career for myself in London. “Perhaps I will write to you, when my new life is settled. Don’t try to see me. I ask you, from my heart, not to do that. “Kiss Lynette, and make her think the best you can. “I am sealing this and leaving it here for you with the pictures. “EVE.” A great restlessness came upon her when she had completed all these preparations, and she felt a desire to rush out and end the last decisive phase of her life at Fernhill. She hunted up a local time-table, and found that the first train left Basingford at half-past six in the morning. The earliness of the hour pleased her. The valise and bag were not very heavy, and she could walk the two miles to the station before the Basingford people were stirring.