`If I had only been a little less fond of you, I think I should have destroyed it.But oh! how could I destroy the only thing I had which proved that I had saved you from discovery? If we did come to an explanation together, and if you suspected me of having some bad motive, and denied it all, how could I win upon you to trust me, unless I had the nightgown to produce?
Was it wronging you to believe, as I did, and do still, that you might hesitate to let a poor girl like me be the sharer of your secret, and your accomplice in the theft which your money troubles had tempted you to commit?
Think of your cold behaviour to me, sir, and you will hardly wonder at my unwillingness to destroy the only claim on your confidence and your gratitude which it was my fortune to possess.
`I determined to hide it; and the place I fixed on was the place I knew best--the Shivering Sand.
`As soon as the questioning was over, I made the first excuse that came into my head and got leave to go out for a breath of fresh air.I went straight to Cobb's Hole, to Mr.Yolland's cottage.His wife and daughter were the best friends I had.Don't suppose I trusted them with your secret--Ihave trusted nobody.All I wanted was to write this letter to you, and to have a safe opportunity of taking the nightgown off me.Suspected as I was, I could do neither of those things, with any sort of security, up at the house.
`And now I have nearly got through with my long letter, writing it alone in Lucy Yolland's bedroom.When it is done, I shall go downstairs with the nightgown rolled up, and hidden under my cloak.I shall find the means I want for keeping it safe and dry in its hiding-place, among the litter of old things in Mrs.Yolland's kitchen.And then I shall go to the Shivering Sand--don't be afraid of my letting my footmarks betray me!--and hide the nightgown down in the sand, where no living creature can find it without being first let into the secret by myself.
`And when that's done, what then?
`Then, Mr.Franklin, I shall have two reasons for making another attempt to say the words to you which I have not said yet.If you leave the house, as Penelope believes you will leave it, and if I haven't spoken to you before that, I shall lose my opportunity for ever.That is one reason.
Then, again, there is the comforting knowledge--if my speaking does make you angry--that I have got the nightgown ready to plead my cause for me as nothing else can.That is my other reason.If these two together don't harden my heart against the coldness which has hitherto frozen it up (Imean the coldness of your treatment of me), there will be the end of my efforts--and the end of my life.
`Yes.If I miss my next opportunity--if you are as cruel as ever, and if I feel it again as I have felt it already--good-bye to the world which has grudged me the happiness that it gives to others.Good-bye to life, which nothing but a little kindness from you can ever make pleasurable to me again.Don't blame yourself, sir, if it ends in this way.But try--do try--to feel some forgiving sorrow for me! shall take care that you find out what I have done for you, when I am past telling you of it myself.
Will you say something kind of me then--in the same gentle way that you have when you speak to Miss Rachel? If you do that, and if there are such things as ghosts, I believe my ghost will hear it, and tremble with the pleasure of it.
`It's time I left off.I am making myself cry.How am I to see my way to the hiding-place if I let these useless tears come and blind me?
`Besides, why should I look at the gloomy side? Why not believe, while I can, that it will end well after all? I may find you in a good humour to-night--or, if not, I may succeed better to-morrow morning.I shan't improve my plain face by fretting--shall I? Who knows but I may have filled all these weary long pages of paper for nothing? They will go, for safety's sake (never mind now for what other reason) into the hiding-place along with the nightgown.It has been hard, hard work writing my letter.Oh!
if we only end in understanding each other, how I shall enjoy tearing it up.
`I beg to remain, sir, your true lover and humble servant, `R OSANNA S PEARMAN.'
The reading of the letter was completed by Betteredge in silence.After carefully putting it back in the envelope, he sat thinking, with his head bowed down, and his eyes on the ground.
`Betteredge,' I said, `is there any hint to guide me at the end of the letter?'
He looked up slowly, with a heavy sigh.
