ipation is sometimes sweeter than
realization. Finally it was done, but he closed his eyes for a
second,--a boyish trick of his that had survived when he wished some
expected pleasure to spring suddenly upon him. How would she address
him? The memory of their last meeting gave him courage, and he opened
his eyes. The denouement was disconcerting. Directly under the tiny
white monogram she had begun without heading of any description:--

It was cruel of me to let you go as I did: you were hopeful when you
left. I led you to this state for a purely selfish reason. After all, it
saved you the anguish of knowing it was a final farewell; for even then
I knew it could never be. Never! Forever!--do you know the meaning of
those two long words? I do. They have burned themselves irrevocably into
my brain; try to understand them,--they are final.

I retract nothing that I said to my father in your presence; you know
exactly how I still consider what is separating us. I am wrong. Only I
am causing this separation; no one else could or would. Do not blame my
father; if he were to see me writing thus he would beg me to desist; he
would think I am sacrificing my happiness for him. I have no doubt you
think so now. Let me try to make you understand how different it really
is. I am no Jephthah's daughter,--he wants no sacrifice, and I make
none. Duty, the hardest word to learn, is not leading me. You heard my
father's words; but not holding him as I do, his face could not recoil
upon your heart like a death's hand.

I am trying to write coherently and to the point: see what a coward I
am! Let me say it now,--I could never be happy with you. Do you remember
Shylock,--the old man who withdrew from the merry-making with a breaking
heart? I could not make merry while he wept; my heart would weep also.
You see how selfish I am; I am doing it for my own sake, and for no
one's else.

And that is why I ask you now to forgive me,--because I am not noble
enough to consider you when my happiness is at stake. I suppose I am
a light person seemingly to play thus with a man's heart. If
this reflection can rob you of regret, think me so. Does it sound
presumptuous or ironical for me to say I shall pray you may be happy
without me? Well, it is said hearts do not break for love,--that is, not
quickly. If you will just think of what I have done, surely you will
not regret your release; you may yet find a paradise with some other and
better woman. No