without it?

The day of our parting was drawing nigh.

At the end of September Miss Wilson was to return to her home in
Chicago. A month later I was to visit her there, but the thought
of that month of separation so soon after we had become engaged
saddened us and our hearts dreaded the ordeal. Still, come it
did, and as I watched the train pull out of the station, carrying
with it all that I loved best in the world, I felt a wrench at my
heartstrings and a loneliness that was inexpressible.

For a month I consoled myself as best I could with the letters
which reached me almost daily and always brought me happiness.

Then I turned my face westward.

Miss Wilson's father had been dead for many years. She, with her
mother, resided with her married sister, the wife of a general in
the army during the war, and at the time of which I write, judge
of the Probate Court. Until his death, a few years ago, he was one
of Chicago's best known and most highly respected citizens.

As the relatives approved of our engagement, my reception by the
family was all that could be desired. As to my reception by Miss
Wilson, I think it safe to leave it to the imagination of my readers.
It was entirely satisfactory to me.

My visit was of necessity a short one. For though I was not again
to see Miss Wilson until the time of our marriage, a full year