I heard his strong step on the stone flags of the hall--he was going out
at the porch.
I heard the metallic clashing of the door of the automobile--he was
already in the car.
I heard the throb of the motor and ruckling of the gravel of the
path--he was moving away.
I heard the dying down of the engine and the soft roll of the rubber
wheels--I was alone.
For some moments after that the world seemed empty and void. But the
feeling passed, and when I recovered my strength I found Martin's letter
in my moist left hand.
Then I knelt before the fire, and putting the letter into the flames I
burnt it.