Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 6).djvu/181

HE too familiar words "Declined with thanks," however unpleasant to receive, are scarcely supposed under ordinary circumstances to excite despair. Something, however, akin to that passion was legible upon the face of Elsa Vane, as she sat trying to master their curt significance.

They were written upon a sheet of large note-paper, bearing in print the address of the offices of the London Month. On the table lay a torn envelope, directed with decisive clearness in the same hand to "Mrs. Thos. Vane, The Elms, Stamworth, Surrey."

There were no signs, however, of the usual MS., but beside the envelope lay a few sprigs of dried lavender. There could be no mistake. She, Elsa, was Mrs. Thomas Vane; she knew with too great certitude whose hand had written those words, and she was sitting in the dining-room of "The Elms, Stamworth."

It was a pretty, home-like room, and the table was laid daintily for her solitary breakfast. She poured herself out a cup of tea, and drank it, but she pushed the food away untasted. Then she returned to the contemplation of the ill-fated words. No, there could be no mistake. She held, only too clearly, the clue to their meaning. The evil wrought was beyond remedy, and the doing of it had been hers; yet her unpreparedness had been terrible.

She saw there written the ruin of her own life, and of another, which only last night she had told herself she held more dear. At last she rose and went over to the fire, still holding the paper; the sprigs of lavender, also, she had gathered into her hand. For a moment she looked at these, as though she would have thrown them into the blaze, and so finished their decay for ever. Instead, she thrust them into the bosom of her dress. Then she took her accustomed seat in a low chair by the hearth. Her husband's chair was opposite, and she looked at it as though she could see there the handsome, clever face which had fascinated her. His nature was so calm—sleepy, she had called it—she had never imagined it possible to anger him beyond recall. She had known his love for her to be so deep, even when to herself she had professed to doubt it, that, in truth, the