_"
_"Dec. 14th._--It is plain he never means to come again. Mamma says
nothing, but that is out of pity for me: I have not read her dear face
all these years for nothing. She is beginning to think him unworthy, when
she thinks of him at all.
There is a mystery; a dreadful mystery; may he not be as mystified, too,
and perhaps tortured like me with doubts and suspicions? They say he is
pale and dejected. Poor thing!
But then, oh why not come to me and say so? Shall I write to him? No, I
will cut my hand off sooner."
_"Dec. 16th._--A blessed letter from Jane. She says, 'Letter writing on
ordinary subjects is a sad waste of time and very unpardonable among His
people.' And so it is; and my weak hope, daily disappointed, that there
may be something in her letter, only shows how inferior I am to my
beloved friend. She says, 'I should like to fix another hour for us two
to meet at the Throne together: will five o'clock suit you? We dine at
six; but I am never more than half an hour dressing.'
"The friendship of this saint, and her bright example, is what Heaven
sends me in infinite mercy and goodness to sooth my aching heart a
little: for _him_ I shall never see again.
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