May Heaven forgive you.
Arleigh." She could have borne with his letter if it had been filled with the wildest invictives--if he had reproached her, even cursed her; his dignified forbearance, his simple acceptance of the wrong she had done him, she could not tolerate.
She laid down the letter.

It was all over now--the love for which she would have given her life, the friendship that had once been so true, the vengeance that had been so carefully planned.

She had lost his love, his friendship, his esteem.

She could see him no more.

He despised her.
There came to her a vision of what she might have been to him had things been different--his friend, adviser, counselor--the woman upon whom he would have looked as the friend of his chosen wife--the woman whom, after all, he loved best--his sister, his truest confidante.