Chapter 11 i
When the letter came from Teddy—the first letter for so long—Emily's hand trembled so that she could hardly open it.
"I must tell you of a strange thing that has happened," he wrote. "Perhaps you know it already. And perhaps you know nothing and will think me quite mad. I don't know what to think of it myself. I know only what I saw—or thought I saw.
"I was waiting to buy my ticket for the boat-train to Liverpool—I was to sail on the Flavian. Suddenly I felt a touch on my arm—I turned and saw you. I swear it. You said, 'Teddy—come.' I was so amazed I could not think or speak. I could only follow you. You were running—no, not running. I don't know how you went—I only knew that you were retreating. How rotten this all sounds. Was I crazy? And all at once you weren't there—though we were by now away from the crowd in an open space where nothing could have prevented me from seeing you. Yet I looked everywhere—and came to my senses to realize that the boat-train had gone and I had lost my passage on the Flavian. I was furious—ashamed—until the news came. Then—I felt my scalp crinkle.
"Emily—you're not in England? It can't be possible you are in England. But then—what was it I saw in that station?
"Anyhow, I suppose it saved my life. If I had gone on the Flavian—well, I didn't. Thanks to—what?
"I'll be home soon. Will sail on the Moravian—if you don't prevent me again. Emily, I heard a queer story of you long ago—something about Ilse's mother. I've almost forgotten. Take care. They don't burn witches nowadays, of course—but still—"
No, they didn't burn witches. But still—Emily felt that she could have more easily faced the stake than what was before her.