"I am writing to you because, little as you may care to hear, I could never look in your face again, unless you knew the worst of me. Probably face to face I never shall see you, but let me at least have the right to think of you with less utter shame. My aunt intended, if my brother had obeyed her summons at once, to have talked over business matters with him, and to have destroyed the will in my favour, under which I have the misfortune to inherit. I first of all forgot, in my preoccupation, to post her letter to Guy, so that he could not come till the later train, and then, as you know, in my mad desire to see you once more, and alone, I failed to send to meet him at Kirk Hinton. If he had come in the morning, as but for me he would, probably my aunt's accident would never have happened, and he could have satisfied her mind on the points between them. As it was, he only came just before the end, when, though she knew him, she could not speak to him. Moreover, the long walk and the hurry and shock, all through my act, so injured him, that I thought his death, as well as all the rest, would lie at my door. I see Staunton thinks it may be so even yet. Guy has been most generous to me, but that only increases the dreadful weight of remorse that lies on me. You will see how impossible it is that I should profit by the results of my own wicked jealousy. I have pledged myself never to do so. I have now no right to tell you that I love you, or to come forward for your favour any more. I have often been stung by your contempt; but you see it was quite justifiable. I have but one purpose now, to free myself from the responsibilities I have brought on myself. Guy insists on my taking my degree, and by the time that is done, I hope my course may be clear to me. I mean this letter for a farewell. Don't think I hope that you will answer it. Even now, I can't be sorry that I love you. In the very ends of the earth I shall remember you. I have often said that nothing should come between me and my longing for you, but my own violence has put me off from you. I have loved you a great deal better than my honour, and you were right to turn away. But, oh, Constancy, you are the one thing in the universe to me, and no one else will ever love you half so much. I feel as if I must some day wake from a dream, and find myself fit and free once more to move Heaven and earth in my cause, and to win you yet. Say what you will, I believe that I could. But now I can only sign myself in the fullest meaning of the word, unworthy as I am to use it,-- "Yours faithfully,-- "Godfrey Waynflete."