as the more free from embarrassment, the less I
reciprocated the feeling.

"_He_ my saviour? He, who has not the most distant idea of my nature,
and who would not have the least comprehension of my needs, if I told
him all?

"'We are too unlike,' I answered. 'He is mistaken if he thinks one like
me could make him happy.'--Aunt Valentin eagerly protested against
this. He knew my religious opinions, and that was precisely what had
turned the scale. He now felt how much he had to give, otherwise his
modesty would have discouraged him. We discussed the matter a long
time, debating whether with the possibility of conversion and future
understanding, two persons so widely different in belief might venture
to join hands. Dear me, she believes it because she desires it. This
reason for faith does not exist for me, since I do not even wish to
attract him.

"A nature like his, which is alarmed by everything vague and seeks
repose at any cost, even that of truth--I mean truth to itself--such a
peace-loving soul would be chilled to death in the storms of thought
which are my element. It requires courage to stand as sentinel on such
a lonely post, and not even know when one will be relieved--if at all.

"_Wednesday_, 6, _A. M_.--I awoke last night and could not fall asleep
again on account of the heat, so I rose and sat down at the open
window, where the night heaven looked down upon me with its countless
stars. Then suddenly, when all around was so calm and silent, and yet
so grand and wonderful, a feeling stole over me as if I distinctly
heard my soul say: 'No, this boundless expanse contains no heart whose
pulses throb in harmony with yours. But do not fear. We breathe and
move and will and think according to eternal necessity, and are not
solitary, even amid the desolation of midnight.' And as I said this to
myself, I heard my dear father's quiet breathing and stole softly into
his room. There he lay smiling so lovingly in his sleep, that I
involuntarily knelt beside him and gently kissed his hand; then I
returned to my bed and slept more sweetly than I had ever done before.

"Long ago, when it occurred to me, that what people call God was a
vision created after their own image, a thrill of superstitious awe
stole over me, as if I must be punished in some way for my audacity.
But it is childish to suppose that if a conscious, omniscient,
omnipresent being really holds the world in his hand, our doubts or
misapprehensions w