There were three or four letters
and notes he had written the dead girl, and one blotted sheet from her.
With a quaking soul he read it. It confirmed him in the fear which had
taken hold of him at the first news of the tragedy. The letter ran:
"DEAR JOHN,--I simply cannot stand it any longer. It is now about
three in the morning. Some people contend that such acts are done only
by crazy folks, but I don't believe I ever was more sensible than I am
right now. I am not ashamed to own that I had my heart and soul set on
being your wife and making you happy, but now that I know you didn't
feel a bit like I did, an' love Lizzie, I jest can't stand it. The
pain is awful--awful. I could not meet folks face to face, now that
they know the truth. I'd rather die a hundred deaths than see you an'
her even once together. I couldn't live long anyway. I'm simply too
weak and sick at heart. The hardest thing of all is to remember that
you never did care for me all the time I was making such a little fool
of myself. I know you never did. Folks said you was changeable, but I
never once believed it till last night on the road.
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