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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Story Ends

That is nearly the end of my story. I have one last thing to write. But it is the most terrible thing of all.

For days and nights, I have sat at my desk here at Monk’s Piece. I have tried to write down the rest of my story. But my tears have stopped me. My dear wife, Esme, sees I am unhappy. But she doesn’t know why.

But now I am ready to finish my story.

Stella and I returned to London. Six weeks later, we were married. My wife and I were not rich. But we were happy.

A year later, our son was born. Our happiness was complete. I did not think of the past. And I had no more had dreams.

Another year passed. Our son was about a year old. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. Stella and I took our boy to one of the parks in London. Everyone was happy. The sun was shining. Children were running about on the green grass. Music was playing. Everyone was enjoying the holiday.

Someone was giving rides to children in a pony and trap. Our son saw the trap. He shouted and pointed at it.

It was a small trap. There was room for only two passengers. So Stella took the boy. I stood watching them happily.

The trap went behind some trees. I looked around me at the happy people.

And then I saw her. The woman in black. She was standing near a big tree.

She looked at me. There was no mistake. I was looking at the white face and staring eyes of Jennet Humfrye.

My body was icy cold. I could not move. I saw the terrible hate in the woman’s eyes.

At that moment, the pony and trap came back. It came towards me, between the tall trees. My dear Stella was smiling. Our little sun was laughing. I stepped forward.

They passed the tree where the woman in black was standing.

She moved quickly in front of the pony. The frightened pony shrieked. It turned and ran back under the trees. The driver could not stop it.

There was a terrible crash. Then silence. The woman in black had gone. But my darling Stella and my dear son lay on the grass. They did not move.

Our baby son was dead. Stella’s body was broken. But she did not die. Not then. For ten long months, I sat by her bed. Then Stella died at last from her terrible injuries. They asked me for my story. I have told it. There is nothing more to write.