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147 STRAIT IS THE GATE

tween you and me, and this is, indeed, what made me think - long before you suspected it — that your love was above all intellectual, the beautiful tenacity of a tender faithful mind.”

The fear lest I should show this letter to Abel had doubtless inspired the last lines. What suspicious instinct had put her on her guard? Had she formerly detected in my words some reflection of my friend's advice? In truth, I felt myself far enough away from him! The paths we followed were henceforth divergent; and there was little need of these recommendations to teach me to bear the anxious burden of my grief alone. The next three days were wholly occupied by my pleading; I wished to reply to Alissa; I was afraid of incurably inflaming the wound by too deliberate a discussion, by too vehement protestations, by the slightest clumsy word; twenty times over I began the letter in which my love struggled for its life. I cannot to this day re-read without weeping the tear-stained paper, which is the copy of the one I at last decided to send: “ Alissa! Have pity on me, on us both! Your letter hurts me. How much I wish I could smile at your fears! Yes, I felt everything you write;