be better for both of us. I do
not love you less when I write these words; if you could know the
sadness which they echo in my heart you would believe this. No, I
think I love you more, but I cannot understand you. As you have often
said, our natures must be very different, entirely different; if so,
what is this curious bond between them? To me you seem possessed with
some strange restlessness and morbid melancholy which utterly spoils
your life, and in return you never see me without overwhelming me with
reproaches, if not for one thing, for another. I tell you I cannot,
will not, bear it longer. If you love me, then in God's name cease
tormenting me as well as yourself with these wretched doubts and
questionings and complaints. I have been ill, seriously ill, and
there is nothing to account for my illness save the misery of this
apparently hopeless state of things existing between us. You have
made me weep bitter tears of alternate self-reproach and indignation,
and finally of complete miserable bewilderment as to this unhappy
condition of affairs. Believe me, tears like these are not good to
mingle with love, they are too bitter, too scorching, they blister
love's wings and fall too heavily on love's heart. I feel worn out
with a dreary sort of hopelessness; if you know a cure for pain like
this send it to me quickly.

Yet, in the very next letter, she says to him:

Although I said good-bye to you less than an hour ago, I cannot
refrain from writing to tell you that a happy calm which seems to
penetrate my whole being seems also to have wiped out all remembrance
of the misery and unhappiness which has overwhelmed me lately. Why
cannot it always be so, or would life perhaps be then too blessed, too
wholly happy for it to be life? I know that you are free to-night,
will you not write to me, that the first words my eyes fall upon to-
morrow shall prove that to-day has not been a dream? Yes, write to
me.

The letter that immediately follows is one of six words only:

Let me dream--Let me dream.

In the following there are interesting touches of actuality:

Did you ever try a cup of tea (the national beverage, by the way) at
an English railway station? If you have not, I would advise you, as a
friend, to continue to abstain! The names of the American drinks are
rather against them, the straws are, I