d come about was inevitable. After his departure from
Dunfield on that winter day, when his life seemed crushed, he had for a
long time not even sought to hear of Emily. He did not write to Mrs.
Baxendale, and from her had no letters. Correspondence between them only
recommenced some ten months later, when Wilfrid had finally left Oxford,
and then there was no mention on either side of the old troubles.
Wilfrid began by writing that he had thoughts of taking up politics; his
father advised him to the step, and other friends seconded the
recommendation. 'I really believe I can talk,' he said, and Mrs.
Baxendale smiled at the confession. Three months more went by; then
Wilfrid at length asked plainly whether Emily had sent any news of
herself, or whether the suspicions had proved grounded. The reply was
this:--

'As I knew perfectly well, as soon as I came to my senses, Emily had
told us the truth. I heard from her for the first time nearly half a
year ago, but, as she appealed to my honour not to disclose the place of
her abode, I thought it needless to speak to you on the subject before
you yourself seemed desirous of hearing. She is teaching in a school,
and I am convinced that the story we together concocted was based on
some utter mistake; I don't think she was ever related to that man in
the way we thought. But it is more than probable that there was some
mystery about her father's death, in which Mr. D. was concerned. I
cannot imagine what it could be. Something it was which, to Emily's
mind, imposed upon her a necessity of breaking her engagement. I have
spoken to her of you, have asked her directly if she still thinks her
decision final; she assures me most solemnly that it is. I therefore
advise you once for all to accept this; I am convinced she will never
waver. Try to forget her; there is no choice. I don't think I am likely
to see her again for a very long time, if ever, and our correspondence
will be very slight, for I know she wishes it so. Let this, then, close
a sad, sad story.'

There was indeed no choice, as far as outward relations went, but so
profound a passion was not to be easily outgrown. The view which makes
first love alone eternally valid derives from a conception of the nature
of love which, out of the realm of poetry, we may not entertain; but it
sometimes happens that the first love is that which would at any period
of life have been the supreme one, and then it doubtless attains a
specia