So kind is his nature, it may stimulate him for once to make the effort.

But it _cannot_ be continued--it _may_ not be repeated.

Great were that folly which should build on such a promise--insane that credulity which should mistake the transitory rain-pool, holding in its hollow one draught, for the perennial spring yielding the supply of seasons." I bent my head: I sat thinking an hour longer.

Reason still whispered me, laying on my shoulder a withered hand, and frostily touching my ear with the chill blue lips of eld.
"If," muttered she, "if he _should_ write, what then?
Do you meditate pleasure in replying?
Ah, fool! I warn you! Brief be your answer.

Hope no delight of heart--no indulgence of intellect: grant no expansion to feeling--give holiday to no single faculty: dally with no friendly exchange: foster no genial intercommunion...." "But I have talked to Graham and you did not chide," I pleaded.
"No," said she, "I needed not.