ne of us any longer, and that always feels sad.

I do feel, somehow, very sorrowful to-night--more, I think, than I have
any reason. I cannot tell why sometimes a sort of tired, sad feeling
comes over one, when there seems to be no cause for it. I feel as if I
had not something I wanted: and yet, if anybody asked me what I wanted,
I am not sure that I could tell. Or rather, I am afraid I could tell,
but I don't want to say so. There is something gone out of my life
which I wanted more of, and since we came home I have had none of it, or
next to none. No, little book, I am not going to tell you what it is.
Only there is a reason for my feeling sad, and I must keep it to myself,
and never let anybody know it. I suppose other women have had to do the
same thing many a time. And some of them, perhaps, grow hard and cold,
and say bitter things, and people dislike and avoid them, not knowing
that if they lifted up the curtain of their hearts they would see a
grave there, in which all their hopes were buried long ago. Well, God
knows best, and will do His best for us all. How can I wish for
anything more?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

22nd.
When we went up to bed last night, to my surprise Hatty came to me, and
put her arms round me.

"There are only us two left now, Cary," she said. "And I know I have
been very bitter and unloving of late. But I mean to try and do better,
dear. Will you love me as much as you can, and help me? I have been
very unhappy."

"I was afraid so, and I was very sorry for you," I answered, kissing
her. "Must I not ask anything, Hatty?"

"You can ask what you like," she replied. "I think, Cary, that Christ
was knocking at my door, and I did not want to open it; and I could not
be happy while I knew that I was keeping Him outside. And at last--it
was last night, in the sermon--He spoke to me, as it were, through that
closed door; and I could not bear it any longer--I had to rise and open
it, and let Him in. And before that, with Him, I kept everybody out;
and now I feel as if, with Him, I wanted to take everybody in."

Dear Hatty! She seems so changed, and so happy, and I am so thankful.
But my prospect looks very dark. It ought not to do so, for I let Him
in before Hatty did; and I suppose some day it will be clearer, and I
shall have nobody but Him, and shall be sat