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 and prayed that it might not be true. 'I understand it is a punishment, O God, but don't you think you have tortured me enough. Now I am going to close my eyes, and when I open them I pray you let it be a dream from which I awaken.'

Again I stood by the lake, and it seemed as though my only salvation was to throw myself in. I did not rave any longer, I was sad unto death. I wept quietly and gently, I saw the beautiful summer landscape in front of me, and it struck me that I, who was so young, had nothing more to hope from life.

When a voice within me said, 'Yes, there is still hope, perhaps even now there is a wire for you, or another letter may be on its way.'

Yes, of course that's it, that's it, that's what will happen, and I hastened back, allowing hope to build the loveliest dreams.

There was no wire, and no letter has come.

But I won't give up all hope before I have seen him.

Already he must be back in town, and we leave here to-morrow. I have written to him. He will be astonished with my letter, and I think he will like it. It is quite free from anything hysterical. It is calm and sensible. I wrote, 'Perhaps you are right in thinking that something a little faded has crept over our love, and possibly—as you suggest—there is no other remedy than that we don't meet for some time. But perhaps it is also