Let the _feu sacre_ of the regenerator, the liberator, have full
possession of you. How I should blame myself if I were to distract you
from the aims to which you have devoted your life. I have no one to
advise me; but this I know is _right_. You will, I think, not
misunderstand me--you will not think it unmaidenly of me--if I confess
to you that I have written these words with some pain, some touch of
regret that all is not possible to you that you may desire. But for one
soul on devotion. Do I express myself clearly?--you know English is not
my native tongue. If we may not go through life together, in the sense
that you mean, we need not be far apart; and you will know, as you go
forward in the path of a noble duty, that there is not any one who
regards you and the work you will do with a greater pride and affection
than your friend,

NATALIE."

What could it all mean? he asked himself. This was not the letter of a
woman who loved another man; she would have been more explicit; she
would have given sufficient reason for her refusal. He read again, with
a beating heart, with a wild hope, that veiled and subtle expression of
regret. Was it not that she was prepared to sacrifice forever those
dreams of a secure and happy and loving life, that come naturally to a
young girl, lest they should interfere with what she regarded as the
higher duty, the more imperative devotion? In that case, it was for a
firmer nature than her own to take this matter in hand. She was but a
child; knowing nothing of the sorrows of the world, of the necessity of
protection, of the chances the years might bring. Scarcely conscious of
what he did--so eagerly was his mind engaged--he opened a drawer and
locked the letter in. Then he went hastily into the other room.