would undertake to forward an answer to my unknown correspondent;
and, on his consenting to do so, I promised that he should have my
answer the next day.

"I thought long over my letter. One thing was plain to me--it was
Ellen who had come to my help. How could I reject her generous aid
without wounding her or appearing ungrateful? After great hesitation
I wrote a few lines, which, as far as I can recollect, ran thus:

"'I thank you for the interest you have shown me, but it is
impossible for me to accept the sum you place at my disposal. Do not
be angry with me because I return it. Do not withdraw your sympathy;
I will strive to remain worthy of it, and will never forget your
goodness.'

"A few days later, after having confided this letter to the manager,
I left New York for San Francisco. For several years I heard nothing
of Ellen; her image grew gradually fainter, and at last almost
disappeared from my memory.

"The dark river that bore the frail bark which carried me and my
fortunes was carrying me smoothly and unconsciously along towards
the mysterious abyss where all that exists is engulfed. Its course
lay through a vast desert; and the banks which passed before my eyes
were of fearful sameness. Indescribable lassitude took possession of
my whole being. I had never, knowingly, practised evil; I had loved
and sought after good. Why, then, was I so wretched? I would have
blessed the rock which wrecked my bark so that I might have been
swallowed up and have gone down to my eternal rest. Up to the day
when I heard of Ellen's betrothal, I had hoped that the morrow would