So, alone and with no one to come to his relief, the sailorman stood his watch.

About him the branches bent with the snow, the icicles froze him into immobility, and in the tree-tops strange groanings filled him with alarms.

But undaunted, month after month, alert and smiling, he waited the return of the beautiful lady and of the tall young man who had devoured her with such beseeching, unhappy eyes.
Latimer found that to love a woman like Helen Page as he loved her was the best thing that could come into his life.

But to sit down and lament over the fact that she did not love him did not, to use his favorite expression, "tend toward efficiency." He removed from his sight the three pictures of her he had cut from illustrated papers, and ceased to write to her.
In his last letter he said: "I have told you how it is, and that is how it is always going to be.

There never has been, there never can be any one but you.