And, if the faintest doubt could
remain in the most incredulous mind as to the horrible reality of it
all, there was the piled luggage downstairs, that would never be "sent
for" (and never, indeed, needed again by its owners in this world).
Then he took up the second sealed packet, and held it unbroken, while
his mind flew like a bird, and in less than a minute he decided, and
opened it.
It was a piteous letter, signed again merely "A.B.," and might have been
written by any broken-hearted reverent lover to his beloved. It spoke an
eternal good-bye; the writer said that he would lay down his life gladly
again in such a cause if it were called for, and would lay down a
thousand if he had them; he entreated her to look to herself, for that
no doubt every attempt would now be made to entrap her; and it warned
her to put no longer any confidence in a "detestable knave, G.G."
Finally, he begged that "Jesu would have her in His holy keeping," and
that if matters fell out as he thought they would, she would pray for
his soul, and the souls of all that had been with him in the enterprise.
He read it through three or four times; every line and letter burned
itself into his brain. Then he tore it across and across; then he tore
the letter addressed to himself in the same manner; then he went through
all the fragments, piece by piece, tearing each into smaller fragments,
till there remained in his hands just a bunch of tiny scraps, smaller
than snowflakes, and these he scattered out of the window.
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