I am sorry to say that since I last saw you additional facts have come to my knowledge which in fairness to the purity which is part of the higher life I cannot ignore. That Mr. Gabriel Stanton had been visiting my cousin’s wife during the six months in which she should have been penitently contemplating the errors and misdemeanours of her past, her failure in true wifeliness, I knew. That you had been passing many hours daily with her, and at unseemly hours, have also slept in her house, has only now come to my knowledge. I am nauseated by this looseness. Marriage should improve the human species, becoming a barrier against vice. This has not been so with the wife of my husband’s cousin. As Mrs. Eddy so truly says “the joy of intercourse becomes the jest of sin.” I return you the cheque you gave me and which becomes due next Wednesday. If neither you nor Mrs. Capel has any argument to advance that would cause me to alter my opinion I am constrained to lay the facts in my possession before the King’s Proctor. Two co-respondents make the case more complicated, but my duty more simple. Yours without any spiritual arrogance but conscious of rectitude, SARAH ROOPE. “Damn her!” He had said it often, but it never forwarded matters. Time pressed, and he had done nothing, or almost nothing. He had received the letter Wednesday. On Friday before going up to Carbies he had wired, “Am consulting Mrs. C. wait result.” The early morning post came late to Pineland. Dr. Kennedy had to wait until nine o’clock for his letters. As he anticipated on Saturday morning there was another letter from the follower of Mrs. Eddy: _Dear Dr. Kennedy_:— It is my duty to let you know that I have an appointment with James Capel’s lawyer for Monday the 29th inst. In desperation he wired back, “Name terms, Kennedy,” and paid reply. There were a few patients he was bound to see. The time had to be got through somehow. But at twelve o’clock he started for Carbies. Margaret had not expected to see him again. She had said good-bye to him, to the whole incident. Her “consciousness of rectitude,” as far as Peter Kennedy was concerned, was as complete as Mrs. Roope’s. She had found him little better than a country yokel, and now saw him with a future before him, a future she still vaguely meant to forward—only vaguely. Definitely all her thoughts were with Gabriel and the hours they would pass together. She was meeting him at the station at three o’clock. She remembered the first time she had met him at Pineland station, and smiled at the remembrance. He might cut himself shaving with impunity now, and the shape of his hat or his coat mattered not one jot.