Before the end of the week, they had met again; and the force of fear and love, and Lumley’s eloquent persuasion ultimately carried the day; but during this week, Letty had lived in a palsy of indecision, painfully conscious of the debility of her own will. One moment, she had made up her mind, the next she changed it; however, after a decisive interview, in which Lumley said, “It must be yes or no--_now_--for I am going away,” with a white face and trembling lips, Letty had breathed the syllable ‘Yes.’ CHAPTER XIX It had been arranged by Captain Lumley that he was to go to London, where, by a certain train and on a certain day, he would be joined by Mrs. Blagdon. In this short breathing-space Letty had much to think of, and accomplish. She collected, sorted, and packed some clothes, and a few treasured personal belongings; but abandoned all her jewellery, except one or two trifling ornaments, a string of pearls, and her uncle’s diamond heart, destroyed the whole of her innocent correspondence, put the photograph of her wedding group into the waste-paper basket in four pieces, and, heaviest task of all, set about writing letters to her aunt, to Frances, and to Maude Hesketh. To her she said: “I know that you alone realise the awful life I have led since my marriage, and will pity and forgive me. I never see you now, and I am shut away from all the world--not a wife, but a prisoner. Sometimes last winter when Frances and her father were at Bournemouth, I was afraid that my mind would have given way; the loneliness and monotony seemed to deaden my brain. Dear Cousin Maudie, do not think too badly of me, and love me still.” The leave-taking epistle destined for her husband, was a more difficult task; how many sheets of paper were destroyed, before she had succeeded to her satisfaction! Waggett the nurse had an inarticulate understanding with her master, and all this packing, letter-writing, and hours of weeping in the nursery, excited her suspicions,--and could mean but one thing. When Cara was asleep, Miss Waggett slipped down to the village post office and sent a telegram to Mr. Blagdon’s London address, which said, ‘Your presence required urgently.’ Blagdon, who was on the eve of a trip to Paris, returned by the first train--actually passing his wife on her flight to London. When, in a ferocious temper, he arrived at Sharsley, he was informed that Mrs. Blagdon was not at home, had left at twelve o’clock in the village fly, taking luggage with her. Then a letter addressed to him was produced; it had been placed in a conspicuous position on the smoking-room chimney-piece. He snatched this from the old man-servant’s hand, tearing it open as he walked away; then, glancing over it, he slapped his great thigh and exclaimed exultantly: “By Gad, she’s done it! She’s done it!” The letter began: “HUGO,