k I am beginning to lose my head,
that I am fit for all folly. We walked together yesterday; we were
not very talkative. In the lane, when we were coming home, a man on
a bicycle turned sharply round the corner, and I was lost in
thought, so that I was caught unawares, and in fact knew nothing of
the matter until I felt myself pulled aside by Gabriel. I thought he
would let go my arm, but he did not, and for the few yards of road
that remained I could not see out of my eyes. I said to myself, "He
is holding my arm,--perhaps he loves me." I was a fool; of course,
it meant nothing; and I am certain, too, that it was imagination on
my part led me to believe he looked differently at me when he said
good-bye.

That is what frightens me. Of course, it was pure self-delusion;
but, if I am going to begin that sort of folly, it is high time to
come away. Indeed, the folly of it. Besides, I suppose I ought to
feel ashamed. I am sure he knows now quite well that I love him, and
perhaps that is why he looked strangely at me when he said good-bye.
But I don't want his pity; O God forbid! Nor his, nor anybody's. Do
you hear? Never pity me, Constance.

Your little
EMILIA.

LETTER XXVII.

February 12th.

Could you meet me a little sooner, perhaps, and not wait until the
twenty-third? I must leave Graysmill at once. I shall go to the
Cottage to-morrow afternoon, and tell them. I shall tell the others
tonight, and on Monday I shall leave Graysmill forever. If you think
you cannot reach Florence by Wednesday or Thursday, never mind, you
will join me as soon as you can; only send me a telegram. I can go
and stay with Marianna until you come.

I can bear it no longer! The world holds but one thought; the day
and the night are lost in the constant reiteration of every word he
ever said to me, in the resuscitation of every glance, every touch.
And, poring over these in my memory, I try to read between the lines
the words that are not there, to read "I love you."

Oh, I am very weak, yet, believe me, it is all against my will. I
have fought this folly, I despise myself utterly, and yet now I am
swept away by the flood, I can struggle no more. I shall die of
this, or run mad.

I met him out to-day. We had not arranged to meet; but, as I went
out at the blue door, there he stood. W