So Peregrine, love me when I
come back to you or these long two years will have been lived in vain
and I shall run away back to the Silent Places and die an old maid.
Perhaps I shall seem strange when we meet, but this will only be
because I fear you a little and doubt a little how you may feel
towards this new Diana--so love me, let me see it in your eyes, hear
it in your voice. It is so much easier to write than to say, so I will
write it again--Love me, Peregrine, love me because I am yours--now
and always.
DIANA.
Having read this letter I laid it down and took from an inner pocket
another letter, somewhat worn and frayed by over-much handling, which
bore these words, smudged and blotted a little, though written with
painful care.
DEAR PERRYGREEN:
Your letter has made me cry dredfully. I cannot bear to think of you
so lonly because I am lonly to. I cannot bear to think of you on your
nees I would rather think of you as I saw you last so brave and
determined. Pray for me as I pray for you only don't rite to me or I
shall run back to you because I am not very brave and want you so. O
dear Perrygreen always love
YOUR DIANA.
"You're looking confoundedly glum, Perry; I hope the _billet_ is
quite sufficiently _doux_?"
"Quite--indeed, quite!" said I, starting out of my reverie. "It is a
letter such as only Diana could have written--"
"Then your woe undoubtedly proceeds from stomach; for the emptiness of
same I prescribe ham, shall we say mingled--judiciously blended--with
beef--"
"Abhorrent thought!" I exclaimed.
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