Help me that I may
never give him an instant's pain! Oh, that I had more power of
loving, that I might love him better,"--and thus foolish thoughts
for many pages, but foolish thoughts of the kind that has kept this
worn old world, hanging for so many ages in space, from turning
sour.
Later, in February, there is another entry that carries on the
story:-
"Chris left this morning. He put a little packet into my hands at
the last moment, saying it was the most precious thing he
possessed, and that when I looked at it I was to think of him who
loved it. Of course I guessed what it was, but I did not open it
till I was alone in my room. It is the picture of myself that he
has been so secret about, but oh, so beautiful. I wonder if I am
really as beautiful as this. But I wish he had not made me look so
sad. I am kissing the little lips. I love them, because he loved
to kiss them. Oh, sweetheart! it will be long before you kiss them
again. Of course it was right for him to go, and I am glad he has
been able to manage it. He could not study properly in this quiet
country place, and now he will be able to go to Paris and Rome and
he will be great.
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