Sweet, I'll go on to-morrow.


January 20th.

I distinguished myself to-day! It came on to pour while I was at the
Cottage, and, in spite of a certain caution that has crept into my
actions of late, I stayed there the whole afternoon.

Jane was actually making herself a new dress, so I offered to help
her, and we sewed by lamplight at the kitchen table, it being a very
dark afternoon. Gabriel joined us after a while; he thought we
looked so cosy that he brought his books and sat at the table too,
just opposite me.

You have never really loved any man, you, so perhaps you don't know
what it is to be afraid of your own eyes, because you feel that
every time they rest on that thing you love, your poor heart runs
and looks out of window.

I seldom look at Gabriel now,--I dare not. But there he sat opposite
me, poring over his book. Jane was bent over her sewing. I forgot
her, and I forgot my work too; it slipped from my fingers and fell
into my lap. Suddenly he raised his head,--it seemed as if all the
blood in my body rushed to my face; he had caught me all unguarded;
what he might not know was laid bare before him. With a dull, wide
gaze he stared at me, then bent over his book again; he had not seen
me; he had merely looked up to get a better view, as it were, of
something he had in mind.