but she cannot take them in her still hands.
I can only lay them on that impassable mound, and let the warm rains,
as soft as woman's tears, drip down and down and down until the fragrance
and my love come to her in the mist.

"But will she care? Is that last sleep so deep that the quiet heart is
never stirred by love? When my whole soul goes out to her in an agony
of love and pain, is it possible that there is no answer? If there is a
God in heaven, it cannot be!"

"_October fifth. Night._

"It is said that Time heals everything. I have been waiting to see if it
were so. Day by day my loss is greater; day by day my grief becomes more
difficult to bear. I read all the time, or pretend to. I sit for hours
with the open book before me and never see a line that is printed there.
Oh, Love, if I could dream to-night, in the earth with you!"

"_October seventh._

"Just four months ago to-day! I was numb, then, with the shock and
horror. I could not feel as I do now. When the tide of my heart came in,
with agony in every pulse-beat, it rose steadily to the full, without
pause, without rest. I think it has reached its flood now, for I cannot
endure more. Will there ever be recession?"

"_November tenth._

[Sidenote: Death of Passion]

"I am coming, gradually, to have some sort of faith. I do not know why,
for I have never had it before. I can see that all things made of earth
must perish as the leaves. Passion dies because it is of the earth, but
does not love live?

[Sidenote: A Gift]

"If only the finer things of the spirit could be bequeathed, like
material possessions! All I have to leave my son is a very small income
and a few books. I cannot give him endurance, self-control, or the power
to withstand temptation. I cannot give him joy. If I could, I should
leave him one priceless gift--my love for Constance, to which, for one
hour, hers answered fully--I should give him that love with no barrier
to divide it from its desire.

"I wonder if Constance would have left hers to her little yellow-haired
girl? I wonder if sometimes the joys of the fathers are not visited upon
their children as well as their sins?"

"_November nineteenth. Night._

"I have come to believe that love never dies for God is love, and He is
immortal. My love for Constance has not died and cannot. Why should hers
have died? It does not seem that it has, since to-day, for the first
time, I have found surcease.

"Constance is dea