"Harry wrote on the night that he--that he died.

Oh, Dick, my boy, I have known for a long time that I would have one day to show it to you, and I wanted you to feel when that time came that I had not been disloyal." She had kept her face steady, even her voice calm, by a great effort.
But now the tears filled her eyes and brimmed over, and her voice suddenly shook between a laugh and a sob.

"But oh, Dick," she cried, "I have so often wanted to be disloyal.

I was so often near to it--oh, very, very near." She handed him the faded letter, and, turning towards the window, stood with her back to him while he read.

It was that letter, with its constant refrain of "I am very tired," which Linforth had written in his tent whilst his murderers crouched outside waiting for sleep to overcome him.
"I am sitting writing this by the light of a candle," Dick read.