t for hours as I
do, but for one full moment in which your thoughts are with me as
wholly as mine are with you, I feel that the bond between us,
unseen by the world, and possibly not wholly recognised by
ourselves, is instinct with the same power which links together
the eternities.

"It seems to have always been; to have known no beginning, only a
budding, an efflorescence, the visible product of a hidden but
always present reality. A month ago and I was ignorant, even, of
your name. Now, you seem the best known to me, the best understood,
of God's creatures. One afternoon of perfect companionship--one
flash of strong emotion, with its deep, true insight into each
other's soul, and the miracle was wrought. We had met, and
henceforth, parting would mean separation only, and not the
severing of a mutual bond. One hand, and one only, could do that
now. I will not name that hand. For us there is nought ahead but
life.

"Thus do I ease my heart in the silence which conditions impose
upon us. Some day I shall hear your voice again, and then-"

The paper dropped from the reader's hand. It was several minutes before
he took up another.

This one, as it happened, antedated the other, as will appear on reading
it:

"My friend:

"I said that I could not write to you--that we must wait. You
were willing; but there is much to be accomplished, and the
silence may be long. My father is not an easy man to please, but
he desires my happiness and will listen to my plea when the right
hour comes. When you have won your place--when you have shown
yourself to be the man I feel you to be, then my father will
recognise your worth, and the way will be cleared, despite the
obstacles which now intervene.

"But meantime! Ah, you will not know it, but words will rise
--the heart must find utterance. What the lip cannot utter, nor
the looks reveal, these pages shall hold in sacred trust for you
till the day when my father will place my hand in yours, with
heart-felt approval.

"Is it a folly? A woman's weak evasion of the strong silence of
man? You may say so some day; but somehow, I doubt it--I doubt
it."

The creaking of a chair;--the man within had seated himself. There was
no other sound; a soul in turmoil wakens no echoes. Sweetwater envied
the walls surrounding the unsympathetic reader. They could see. He could
only listen.

A little while;