There, with her door shut, she opened the letter.

This was the letter, written in lead pencil, in an irregular but bold hand, with some letters partly dimmed where the paper had been damp: "At the very end of my life I write to you that you have escaped the fiercest love that ever a man had for a woman.

I shall carry this love with me to hell, if it may be, but you have escaped it.
This escape is a blessing, and now that I cannot help it I give it to you.

Had I lived, I should have shed the blood of every one whom you loved to gain you and you would have cursed me.

So love me now for dying.
"Yours, anywhere and always, CHRISTOPHER VINCE." Kate put down the letter and some colour came into her face; she bowed her head in thankful prayer.
"He is dead," she said, "and now he cannot harm my father." That was the only thought she had regarding this hot-brained and infatuated lover.