I got him to sit down after a while and
tell me what little there was to tell. He
had been away for a day's shooting, and
when he returned he found only the per-
plexed servants at home. A note was left
for him. He showed it to me.

"There are times," it ran, "when we must
do as we must, not as we would. I am go-
ing to do something I have been driven to
do since I left my home. I do not leave
any message of love for you, because you
would not care for it from a woman so weak
as I. But it is so easy for you to be happy
that I hope in a little while you will forget
the wife who yielded to an influence past
resisting. It may be madness, but I am
not great enough to give it up. I tried to
make the sacrifice, but I could not. I tried
to be as gay as you, and to live your sort of
life; but I could not do it. Do not make
the effort to forgive me. You will be hap-
pier if you simply hold me in the contempt
I deserve."

I read the letter over and over. I do not
know that I believe that the spirit of inani-
mate things can permeate to the intelligence
of man. I am sure I always laughed at
such ideas. Yet holding that note with its