“How would he feel if he knew that I am not dead?” she asked herself; and then grew faint and sick as the thought came to her that he would doubtless wish her so if he should learn the truth—that he would feel that she was the destroyer of his peace and happiness, if she should appear before him. How could she think otherwise when she had heard such passionate words of love from his lips, and seen him holding her enemy clasped so fondly to his heart? No, she had no wish to undeceive him, she would never interfere with his happiness, and he should be free, if any act of hers could make him so. Her life was ruined, why should she hesitate about giving him the right to do as he wished? She would sign the letter, and thus end forever all doubt, all trouble. She put out her hand for the pen. The girl, watching her so intently, dipped it freshly in the ink, and laid it between her fingers. She wrote her name in a bold, clear hand, at the end of the letter, then passed it to Miss Rochester without a word. She seized it, a gleam of triumph flashing from her eyes. “There, Salome, for once you have done a sensible thing,” she said, and she folded the paper, and thrust it into her bosom. “It has really made me quite uneasy to think of marrying Dr. Winthrop, since I discovered that you were not dead; but this will make everything all right. Mr. Converse is a very expert lawyer, who makes a specialty of obtaining divorces without publicity, and there will be no fear that this will not be granted, provided he gets enough for his services, and since I have already written to him something regarding the matter he will doubtless expedite the matter. Ah, here comes mamma.” The girl arose as she caught the sound of her mother’s footsteps in the adjoining room, and went to meet her with an exultant look on her face, and wholly unconscious that Salome, tried beyond endurance, had fainted, and lay like one dead upon the bed. The next morning, Mrs. Rochester saw that Salome was served a tempting and nourishing breakfast, for she was determined that she should have all the strength necessary to enable her to leave the villa that day. Her dinner, also, was carefully prepared and appetizing, and after she had partaken of it she made her lie down to rest, and charged her to sleep if she could. “You must be as fresh as possible, for it is quite a drive into Paris,” she observed. “The carriage will come for you late this afternoon—I ordered one from the city, as I thought it would attract less notice than to take Dr. Winthrop’s from the stable.” Salome submitted to whatever arrangements she chose to make without a word of objection; all she cared for was to get away, and go back to the true-hearted honest Harriet, who, she knew, would care for her most tenderly.