`` But if I could ? '' she persisted , gently , `` and if I did -- what then ? '' `` I should hate you , '' he said , passionately . `` You would be worse than a murderess . You would kill every good impulse and belief in me . I would never trust anything or anybody again -- but there , '' he added , his voice once more growing tender , `` you will never fail me , I feel sure of that . '' `` Thank you , '' said Beatrice , almost in a whisper . `` Thank you , '' she repeated , after a moment . She stood up and held out her hand . `` I think I must go now . Good-bye , dear laddie . Write to me from Rome . I shall always be glad to hear from you wherever you are . And -- and -- I shall always try to live up to your ideal of me , Stephen . '' He sprang to his feet and took her hand , lifting it to his lips with boyish reverence . `` I know that , '' he said , slowly . `` Good-bye , my sweet lady . '' When Mrs. Longworth found herself in her room again , she unlocked her desk and took out a letter . It was addressed to Mr. Maurice Cunningham . She slowly tore it twice across , laid the fragments on a tray , and touched them with a lighted match .
As they blazed up one line came out in writhing redness across the page : `` I will XXXXX away with you as you ask . ''
Thank addressed go hate held kill laid think took unlocked