“Beloved, do not say such things to me any more; and whenever you feel such ambition and hope stirring in your heart, read over this little verse, and be sure that your child knew what she said when she wrote it:—­

  “The End of Harvest.

  “O Love, who walkest slow among my sheaves,
  Smiling at tint and shape, thy smile of peace,
  But whispering of the next sweet year’s increase,—­
  O tender Love, thy loving hope but grieves
  My heart!  I rue my harvest, if it leaves
  Thee vainly waiting after harvests cease,
  Like one who has been mocked by title lease
  To barren fields.

Dear one, my word deceives
Thee never.  Hearts one summer have.  Their grain
‘Is sown not that which shall be!’

                                     Can new pain
  Teach me of pain?  Or any ecstasy
  Be new, that I should speak its name again? 
  My darling, all there was or is of me
  Is harvested for thine Eternity!

Esther.”

The fourth letter was the one which Princess had found, the first which my uncle had read—­Esther’s farewell to her lover before going abroad.  No wonder that it so moved him!

“Sunday night.

“My darling:—­I implore you not to come.  Have I not loved you enough, all these years long, for you to trust me, and believe that it is only because I love you so much that I cannot, cannot see you now?  Dear, did I ever before ask you to forego your wish for mine?  Did I ever before withhold anything from you, my darling?  Ah, love, you know—­oh, how well you know, that always, in every blissful moment we have spent together, my bliss has been shadowed by a little, interrupted by a little, because my soul was forever restlessly asking, seeking, longing, for one more joy, delight, rapture, to give to you!

“Now listen, darling.  You say it is almost a year since we met; true, but if it were yesterday, would you remember it any more clearly?  Why, my precious one, I can see over again at this moment each little movement which you made, each look your face wore; I can hear every word; I can feel every kiss; very solemn kisses they were too, love, as if we had known.

“You say we may never meet again.  True.  But if that is to be so, all the more I choose to leave with you the memory of the face you saw then, rather than of the one you would see to-day.  Be compassionate, darling, and spare me the pain of seeing your pain at sight of my poor changed face.  I hope it is not vanity, love, which makes me feel this so strongly.  Being so clearly and calmly conscious as I am that very possibly my earthly days are near their end, it does not seem as if mere vanity could linger in my soul.  And you know you have always said, dearest, that I had none.  I know I have always wondered unspeakably that you could find pleasure in my face, except occasionally, when I have felt,