My friends left me to fall at the mercy of this one.
I consented to the injunction that I should neither write nor receive letters.

Do I argue ill in saying that a trust was implied?
Surely it was a breach of the trust to keep me ignorant of the danger of him I love! Now they know it.

I dared not consult them--not my dear father! about any design of mine when I had read this odd copybook writing, all in brief sentences, each beginning "he" and "he." It struck me like thrusts of a sword; it illuminated me like lightning.

That "he" was the heart within my heart.

The writer must be some clever woman or simple friend, who feels for us very strongly.