What a reprieve in that! He had yet to learn that love can be crueller than any friendship, than any indifference, than any hate: nothing is so exacting, so inexorable, as love.

The letter was full of love; but it was, nevertheless, hard and pitiless in its tone.

Stephen read it again and again: then he held it in the flame of the lamp, and let it slowly burn, until only a few scorched fragments remained.

These he folded in a small paper, and put into his pocket-book.

Why he did this, he could not tell, and wondered at himself for doing it.