From that night until this he has made but one sign—­a little note which Hesper has shown me, a sob and a cry to which even a love that had been more deeply wronged could never have turned a deaf ear.  Surely not Hesper, for she has long forgiven him, knowing his weakness for what it was.  She and I sometimes sit here together in the evenings and talk of him; and every echo in the corridor sets us listening, for he may be at the other side of the world, or but the other side of the street—­we know so little of his fate.  Where he is we know not; but if he still lives, what he is we have the assurance of faith.  This time he has not failed, we know.  But why delay so long?

November 1889—­May 1890. November 1894.

THE END