inst me. But I am not sure about
that. I believe that . . . Ah, well, I'm a foolish fellow; but some day,
dear, I'll tell you what I think . . . I have treasured many of your
sayings in my memory. I can never be as though I had never known you.
Many of your words I have repeated to myself afterwards until they
seemed to represent my own thoughts. I specially remember what you
said about God having made us lonely, so that we might be obliged to
turn to him. For we are all lonely, though some of us not quite so much
as others. You yourself spoke often of being lonely. Oh, my own little
one! Your loneliness is nothing compared to mine. How often I could
have told you that.

"I have never seen any of your work, but I think you have now something
to say to others, and that you will say it well. And if you have the
courage to be simple when it comes to the point, you will succeed. And
I believe you will have the courage, I believe everything of you.

"But whatever you do or do not, you will always be the same to me: my
own little one, my very own. I have been waiting all my life for you;
and I have given you my heart entire. If you only knew that, you could
not call yourself lonely any more. If any one was ever loved, it is you,
dear heart.

"Do you remember how those peasants at the Gasthaus thought we were
betrothed? I thought that might annoy you; and though I was relieved at
the time, still, later on, I wished you had been annoyed. That would
have shown that you were not indifferent. From that time my love for
you grew apace. You must not mind me telling you so often; I must go on
telling you. Just think, dear, this is the first love-letter I have ever
written: and every word of love is a whole world of love. I shall never
call my life a failure now. I may have failed in everything else, but
not in loving. Oh, little one, it can't be that I am not to be with you,
and not to have you for my own! And yet how can that be? It is not I who
may hold you in my arms. Some strong man must love and wrap you round
with tenderness and softness. You little independent child, in spite of
all your wonderful views and theories, you will soon be glad to lean on
some one for comfort and sympathy. And then perhaps that troubled little
spirit of yours may find its rest. Would to God I were that strong man!

"But because I love you, my own little darling, I will not spoil your
life. I won't ask you to give me even one thought. But if I be