CHAPTER IX

TWO LETTERS


Dublin, Ireland, Nov. 16th, 18--

Dear Lady of Mercy:

I have served my sentence. I am free. At first the horrible
humiliation of my treatment, of my surroundings, of the depths I had
to sink to, burned into me. Then the thought of you sustained me.
Your gentle voice: your beauty: your pity: your unbounded faith in
me strengthened my soul. All the degradation fell from me. They were
but ignoble means to a noble end. I was tortured that others might
never know sorrow. I was imprisoned that my countrymen might know
liberty. And so the load was lighter.

The memory of those three WONDERFUL days was so marvellous, so
vivid, that it shone like a star through the blackness of those
TERRIBLE days.

You seem to have taken hold of my heart and my soul and my life.

Forgive me for writing this to you, but it seems that you are the
only one I've ever known who understands the main-springs of my
nature, of my hopes and my ambitions--indeed, of my very thoughts.

To-day I met the leader of my party. He greeted me warmly. At last I
have proved myself a worthy follower. They think it best I should