I know it, Nefert; all that you have seen and heard and felt in these twenty months has centred in him and him alone.

Nor is it wrong in itself.

The rose tree here, which clings to my balcony, delights us both; but if the gardener did not frequently prune it and tie it with palm-bast, in this soil, which forces everything to rapid growth, it would soon shoot up so high that it would cover door and window, and I should sit in darkness.

Throw this handkerchief over your shoulders, for the dew falls as it grows cooler, and listen to me a little longer!--The beautiful passion of love and fidelity has grown unchecked in your dreamy nature to such a height, that it darkens your spirit and your judgment.

Love, a true love, it seems to me, should be a noble fruit-tree, and not a rank weed.