But to-night she could not.

It was as if a spell of silence had been laid upon her, a spell which she dared not attempt to break.

She dared not even think of Nap just then.
It was not a very long letter that she wrote, sitting there in the silence of her room, and it did not take her long to write.

But when it was finished, closed and directed, she sat on with her chin upon her hand, thinking.

It seemed scarcely conceivable that he would refuse to let her go.
She could not imagine herself to be in any sense necessary to him.