Just four days now to elapse before my wedding-day.

What could happen in those four days to save me?
Anthony's messenger, nay, Anthony himself, could do nothing.

There was always my grandfather's face of suspense, by which I knew he counted the hours, always my grandmother's piteous air of asking for forgiveness.

Not even Anthony Cardew could absolve me from what they bound me to.
I tried to be sorry for having written him that letter.

Nothing, indeed, had been farther from my thoughts than that it should be forwarded to him.