then that slight rustling again of the unfolding sheet.
The following was read, and then the fourth and last:

"Dearest:

"Did you think I had never seen you till that day we met in Lenox?
I am going to tell you a secret--a great, great secret--such a
one as a woman hardly whispers to her own heart.

"One day, in early summer, I was sitting in St. Bartholomew's
Church on Fifth Avenue, waiting for the services to begin. It
was early and the congregation was assembling. While idly
watching the people coming in, I saw a gentleman pass by me up
the aisle, who made me forget all the others. He had not the
air of a New Yorker; he was not even dressed in city style, but
as I noted his face and expression, I said way down in my heart,
'That is the kind of man I could love; the only man I have ever
seen who could make me forget my own world and my own people.'
It was a passing thought, soon forgotten. But when in that hour
of embarrassment and peril on Greylock Mountain, I looked up into
the face of my rescuer and saw again that countenance which so
short a time before had called into life impulses till then
utterly unknown, I knew that my hour was come. And that was why
my confidence was so spontaneous and my belief in the future so
absolute.

"I trust your love which will work wonders; and I trust my own,
which sprang at a look but only gathered strength and permanence
when I found that the soul of the man I loved bettered his outward
attractions, making the ideal of my foolish girlhood seem as
unsubstantial and evanescent as a dream in the glowing noontide."

"My Own:

"I can say so now; for you have written to me, and I have the
dancing words with which to silence any unsought doubt which might
subdue the exuberance of these secret outpourings.

"I did not expect this. I thought that you would remain as silent
as myself. But men's ways are not our ways. They cannot exhaust
longing in purposeless words on scraps of soulless paper, and I am
glad that they cannot. I love you for your impatience; for your
purpose, and for the manliness which will win for you yet all that
you covet of fame, accomplishment and love. You expect no reply,
but there are ways in which one can keep silent and yet speak.
Won't you be surprised when your answer comes in a manner you have
never thought of?"

XX. CONFUSION

In his interest in what was