e picture, now
near completion, is by far the best thing I have ever done.

I had noticed for some time that Sinfi's mind seemed to be running
upon some project. Neither Miss Wynne nor I could guess what it was.
But a few days ago she proposed that Miss Wynne and she should take a
trip to North Wales in order to revisit the places endeared to them
both by reminiscences of their childhood. Nothing seemed more natural
than this. And Sinfi's noble self-sacrifice for Miss Wynne had
entitled her to every consideration, and indeed every indulgence.

And yesterday they started for Wales. It was not till after they were
gone that I learnt from another newspaper paragraph that you did not
go to Japan, and are in Wales. And now I begin to suspect that
Sinfi's determination to go to Wales with Miss Wynne arose from her
having suddenly learnt that you are still there.

And now, my dear Alywin, having acted as a somewhat prosaic reporter
of these wonderful events, I should like to conclude my letter with a
word or two about what took place when I parted from you in the
streets of London. I saw then that your sufferings had been very
great, and since that time they must have been tenfold greater. And
now I rejoice to think that, of all the men in this world who have
ever loved, you, through this very suffering, have been the most
fortunate. As Job's faith was tried by Heaven, so has your love been
tried by the power which you call 'circumstance' and which Wilderspin
calls 'the spiritual world.' All that death has to teach the mind and
the heart of man you have learnt to the very full, and yet she you
love is restored to you, and will soon be in your arms. I, alas! have
long known that the tragedy of tragedies is the death of a beloved
mistress, or a beloved wife. I have long known that it is as the King
of Terrors that Death must needs come to any man who knows what the
word 'love' really means. I have never been a reader of philosophy,
but I understand that the philosophers of all countries have been
preaching for ages upon ages about resignation to Death--about the
final beneficence of Death--that 'reasonable moderator and equipoise
of justice,' as Sir Thomas Browne calls him. Equipoise of justice
indeed! He who can read with tolerance such words as these most have
known nothing of the true passion of love for a woman as you and I
understand it. The Elizabethans are full of this nonsense; but where
does Shakespeare, with all his