hope to become
in the end (as the German surgeon had prophesied) as "good a man as he
had ever been." Perhaps in some ways--ways of the mind and spirit--he
was better. But there was no soul-doctor to judge of such improvement.
Certainly Denin was unable to do so himself.

Nothing on earth or in heaven could distract his thoughts from the
letter, however, when it began to loom before him as a possibility.
Constantly he found himself saying, "To-morrow it might come." And
then, "To-day."

When it was "to-day," he began courageously to plan an excursion which
for some time he had been meaning to make. If he left early in the
morning--long before the postman was due--he need not get back till
night. But his strength failed at the moment of starting. He went no
farther than the gate. _Should_ there be a letter while he was away,
the postman must leave it on the table outside the house, for the door
would be locked. Then, Denin argued, if any mischievous person should
slip in and steal it, he would never know what he had missed. And he
was rewarded for staying. The letter did come. It was only when he held
it in his hand that he realized how desperately he had wanted it, what
a black dungeon the beautiful summer day of sunshine would have been
without it.

"Thank you more than I can say for answering me!" he read. "You wrote
me on the very day you had my letter, and I am doing the same with
yours, for it has just arrived. Now, since you have told me you _heard
the voices with the ears of your own spirit_, the book can be mine--my
own message, meant for me. Perhaps others say this very same thing to
you--though it seems that no one can need such a message as much as I
need it. I wonder if it would be wrong to tell you why?

"Maybe your first thought when I ask that question, will be--why should
I _want_ to tell you? But if I do tell you, then you will see why. We
are strangers to each other, living thousands of miles apart, and we
shall never meet; yet because you have written this book, I feel that
you are my friend. You have helped me as no one else could. And I have
no one else to help me at all--_no one_.

"Yes, I must tell you!--for in one way I and the girl in your story
have lived through the same experience. Only there is one great
difference between us. She didn't love the man she married, and that
hurt her, in thinking of him afterwards when he was dead. I loved the
man I married so much that it is killing me