ells
some woman some time in his life. For once I felt the power of a
master, and I spoke well.

She did not answer; I asked her not to. I could not tell her all, and
I would have no reply before. Her face was turned from me as I spoke,
but her ears turned pink and her breath came quickly. I looked at her
and the magnitude of my presumption held me dumb; yet a warm happy
glow was upon me, and the tapping of feet on the pavement below
sounded as sweetest music.

As I watched her she turned, her eyes glistening and her throat all
a-tremble. She held out her hand to say good-bye. I took it in mine;
and at the touch my resolution and all other things of earth were
forgotten, and I did that which I had come hoping to do. Gently, I
slipped a ring with a single setting over her finger, then bending
low, I touched the hand with my lips--whitest, softest, dearest hand
in God's world. Then I heard her breath break in a sob, and felt upon
my hair the falling of a tear.

_August 5._ I am homesick to-night and tired. It is ten-thirty, and, I
have just gotten dinner. I forgot all about it before. The story is
moving swiftly. It is nearly finished now, moreover it is good; I
know it. I sent a big roll of manuscript to him to-day. He is at the
coast, and polishes the rough draft as fast as I send it in. He
tells me he has secured a publisher, and that the book will be out
in a few months. I can hardly wait to finish, for then I, too, can
leave town. I will not go before; I have work to do, and can do it
better here. He tells me he has seen her several times. God! a man
who writes novels and can mention her incidentally, as though
speaking of a dinner-party!

_August 30._ I finished to-day and expressed him the last scrap of
copy. I wanted to sing, I was so happy. Then I bethought me, it is her
birthday. I went down town and picked out a stone that pleased me.
Their messenger will deliver it, and she can choose her own setting.
How I'd like to carry it myself, but I have a little more work to do
before I go. Only two more days, and then--

I have been counting the time since she left: almost two months; it
seems incredible when I think of it.

How I have worked! Next time I write, my journal confessor, I will
have something to tell: I will have seen her--she who wears my
ring.... Ah! here comes my man for orders. A few of my bachelor
friends help me celebrate here to-night. I have not told them it is
the last time.

_Septembe