“Half-past seven tomorrow morning,” she said⁠—then added in a whisper, “I have heard and seen more than you think. Your conduct tonight has made me your friend for life.”

Miss Fairlie came last. I could not trust myself to look at her when I took her hand, and when I thought of the next morning.

“My departure must be a very early one,” I said. “I shall be gone, Miss Fairlie, before you⁠—”

“No, no,” she interposed hastily, “not before I am out of my room. I shall be down to breakfast with Marian. I am not so ungrateful, not so forgetful of the past three months⁠—”

Her voice failed her, her hand closed gently round mine⁠—then dropped it suddenly. Before I could say “Good night” she was gone.

The end comes fast to meet me⁠—comes inevitably, as the light of the last morning came at Limmeridge House.