enting to such an unnatural
sacrifice, if only you will come and take me once more. At present I am a
sorry little vagabond, very much the worse for wear, owing to father's
efforts to sanctify me. But if you will only love me enough, I think I
could be Jessica again. And perhaps you have some more natural way of
sanctifying me yourself; for I doubt now if I shall ever see heaven unless
I may ascend through your portals.

Every day since our bereavement of each other, I have kept a tryst under
our big tree in the forest. At first this was a tender formality, a
memorial of a happiness that had passed. But after a time I began to have
a power of mental vision that was akin to communication. I came out of
myself to meet you somewhere in that mysterious world of silence to which
you seem to belong. There were hours when I felt absolutely certain of
your nearness, a tender peace enfolded me as warm as your arms are. And I
had the supreme satisfaction of having outwitted all father's powers and
principalities. Then came days when by no sweet incantation could I bring
myself near you. I wept upon my sod like one forsaken, and grieved the
more because I conceived that you must be far out of my regions in one of
your "upper chamber" moods, where all your faculties were concentrated
upon some merely philosophical proposition. I wonder now if you are
laughing! If you knew how I have suffered, you would not even smile. If
you knew how I have _needed_ to be kissed, you would make haste to come to
me.

I had been making these excursions into the forest for a long time before
I discovered that Jack was playing the part of eavesdropping guardian
angel. Do you know, by the way, what a quaint little ragamuffin
philosopher that child is? He has a shrewd sobriety, a steady watchfulness
over all about him, and he is endowed with a power of silent devotion that
is absolutely compelling. He has been such a comfort to me! and there is
no way of keeping him out of your confidence. He knows things by some
occult science of loving. Thus I was not offended one day when I looked up
from the shadows under my oak and saw him regarding me gravely, almost
compassionately, from behind a neighbouring tree. After this we had a
tacit understanding that he might play sentinel there when I came into the
forest.

See how much I have said, and still I have not told you the strangest part
of my story--the moonlit revelation of you to me. I am writing, writing,