I am a woman. Oh, if you men
only knew what that means, you'd forgive us much, and pity! You
have so much in life and we so little, and you torture us so
with that little, which to us is so great, our all; leading us
on against our will, against our better judgment, until we love
you, not realizing at first the madness of unrequited love. Oh,
the cruelty of it, and but for a pastime.

"But I do not mean to charge you. You are not as other men; you
are not wrong. Besides, why should I not say it? I love you.
Yes, you; a man who knows not the meaning of the word; who meant
to be but a friend, my best friend. Oh, you have been blind,
blind all the years since first I knew you; since first you
began telling me of yourself and of your hopes. You did not know
what it meant to such as I to live in the ambition of another,
to hope through another's hope, to exult in another's success. I
am confessing, for the first time--and the last time. Know, man,
all the time I loved you. Forgive me that I tell you. I cannot
help it. I am a woman, and love in a woman's life is stronger
than will, stronger than all else together.

"I ask nothing. I expect nothing. I could not keep quiet longer.
It was killing me, and you never saw. I did not mean to tell you
anything, till this moment--least of all, in this way. But it is
done, and I'm glad--yes, happier than I have been for weeks. It
is our woman's nature; a nature we do not ourselves understand.

"My friend, I cannot see you again. Things cannot go on as they
were. It was torture--you know not what torture--and life is
short. If you would be kind, avoid me. The town is wide, and we
have each our work. Time will pass. Remember, you have done
nothing wrong. If there be one at fault it is Nature, for only
half doing her work. You are good and noble. Good-bye. I trust
you, for, God bless you, I love you."

The letter dropped, and the man stood looking out with unseeing eyes,
on the shifting street.

A patient came in and sat down, waiting.

He had read as in a dream. Now with a rush came thought,--the past,
the present, mingled; and as by a great light he saw clearly the years
of comradery, thoughtless on his part, filled as his life had been
with work and with thought of the future. It all came home to him now,
and the coming was of brightness. The coldness melted from his face;
the very squareness of the jaw seemed softer; t