But the sick girl would speak only
of this subject.
"I am quite myself," she said, "and I feel better. Yes, I remember
reading somewhere that it was hereditary."
She was quiet for a little.
"Aunt," she then said, "I shall never be married. It would be wrong
to him. I am afraid of myself."
She did not recur to the subject till she had risen, two or three
weeks after, and was strong enough to move about the room. Waymark
had called every day during her illness. As soon as he heard that
she was up, he desired to see her, but Maud begged him, through her
aunt, to wait yet a day or two. In the night which followed she
wrote to him, and the letter was this:
"If I had seen you when you called yesterday, I should have had to
face a task beyond my strength. Yet it would be wrong to keep from
you any longer what I have to say. I must write it, and hope your
knowledge of me will help you to understand what I can only
imperfectly express.
"I ask you to let me break my promise to you. I have not ceased to
love you; to me you are still all that is best and dearest in the
world. You would have made my life very happy. But happiness is now
what I dare not wish for. I am too weak to make that use of it
which, I do not doubt, is permitted us; it would enslave my soul.
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