I
must be so kind, kind, _kind_ to _everybody_! Such an odd thing
struck me as my greatest wish. When I was little, I remember
grandmother telling me how, when she was a child in pioneer days,
the women made the men's clothes--homespun--and how a handsome
young Circuit Rider, who was a bachelor, seemed to her the most
beautifully dressed man she had ever seen. The women of the
different churches made his clothes, as they did their husbands'
and brothers.' you see--only better! It came into my head that
that would be the divinest happiness that I could know--to sew for
you! If you and I lived in those old, old times--you _look_ as if
you belonged to them, you know, dear--and You were the young
minister riding into the settlement on a big bay horse--and all
the girls at the window, of course!--and I sewing away at the
homespun for you!--I think all the angels of heaven would be
choiring in my heart--and what thick, warm clothes I'd make you
for winter! Perhaps in heaven they'll let some of the women sew
for the men they love--I wonder!

"I hear Cora's voice from downstairs as I write. She's often so
angry with Ray, poor girl. It does not seem to me that she and Ray
really belong to each other, though they _say_ so often that they
do."

Richard having read thus far with a growing, vague uneasiness,
looked up, frowning. He hoped Laura had no Marie Bashkirtseff idea
of publishing this manuscript. It was too intimate, he thought,
even if the names in it were to be disguised.

. . . "Though they _say_ so often that they do. I think Ray is in
love with _her_, but it can't be like _this_. What he feels must
be something wholly different--there is violence and wildness in
it. And they are bitter with each other so often-- always `getting
even' for something. He does care--he is frantically `_in_ love'
with her, undoubtedly, but so insanely jealous. I suppose all
jealousy is insane. But love is the only sanity. How can what is
insane be part of it? I could not be jealous of You. I owe life to
you--I have never lived till now."

The next writing was two days later:

. . . . "To-day as I passed your house with Cora, I kept looking
at the big front door at which you go in and out so often--_your_
door! I never knew that just a door could look so beautiful! And
unconsciously I kept my eyes on it, as we walked on, turning my
head and looking and looking back at it, till Cora suddenly burst
out laughing, and said: `Well,