will never see you again'? The certainty of never seeing a person
again gives a man the courage to say things that otherwise he would
have kept hidden in the most secret depths of his being. I feel that
my life is drawing to a close. Do not say no, my dear friend; my
presentiments are certain. I have written it to Ellen. I have told
her other things besides. What folly! All I have ever done has been
folly or chimera. I end my life logically, in strict accordance with
my whole Past, by making my first avowal of love on my deathbed. Is
not that as useless a thing as can be?"

Hermann would have wished to know some particulars about this
letter; but Warren replied, somewhat vaguely, "If I had a copy of my
letter, I would show it to you willingly. You know my whole story,
and I would not be ashamed to lay before you my last act of folly. I
wrote about a fortnight ago, when I felt sure that death was drawing
near. I was in a fever, not from fear--Death gains but little by
taking my life--but from a singular species of excitement. I do not
remember what were the words I used. Who knows? Perhaps this last
product of my brain may have been quite a poetical performance.
Never mind! I do not repent of what I have done; I am glad that
Ellen should know at last that I have loved her silently and
hopelessly. If that is not disinterested, what is?" he added with a
bitter smile.

Christmas went by sadly. Warren was now so weak that he could
scarcely leave his bed for two or three hours each day. Hermann had
taken upon himself to send for a doctor, but this latter had
scarcely known what to prescribe. Warren was suffering from no
special malady; he was dying of exhaustion. Now and then, during a
few moments, which became daily more rare and more brief, his