Write to me, my own darling Maude, and tell me all you think, your very inmost soul, in this matter. Am I right? Have I asked too much of you? Does the change frighten you? You will have this in the morning, and I should have my answer by the evening post. I shall meet the postman. How hard I shall try not to snatch the letter from him, or to give myself away. Wilson has been in worrying me with foolish talk, while my thoughts were all of our affairs. He worked me up into a perfectly homicidal frame of mind, but I hope that I kept on smiling and was not discourteous to him. I wonder which is right, to be polite but hypocritical, or to be inhospitable but honest. Good-bye, my own dearest sweetheart—all the dearer when I feel that I may lose you.—Ever your devoted FRANK. _St. Albans_, _June_ 8_th_. Frank, tell me for Heaven’s sake what your letter means! You use words of love, and yet you talk of parting. You speak as if our love were a thing which we might change or suppress. O Frank, you cannot take my love away from me. You don’t know what you are to me, my heart, my life, my all. I would give my life for you willingly, gladly—every beat of my heart is for you. You don’t know what you have become to me. My every thought is yours, and has been ever since that night at the Arlingtons’. My love is so deep and strong, it rules my whole life, my every action from morning to night. It is the very breath and heart of my life—unchangeable. I could not alter my love any more than I could stop my heart from beating. How could you, could you suggest such a thing! I know that you really love me just as much as I love you, or I should not open my heart like this. I should be too proud to give myself away. But I feel that pride is out of place when any mistake or misunderstanding may mean lifelong misery to both of us. I would only say good-bye if I thought your love had changed or grown less. But I know that it has not. O my darling, if you only knew what terrible agony the very thought of parting is, you would never have let such an idea even for an instant, on any pretext, enter your mind. The very possibility is too awful to think of. When I read your letter just now up in my room, I nearly fainted. I can’t write. O Frank, don’t take my love away from me. I can’t bear it. Oh no, it is my everything. If I could only see you now, I know that you would kiss these heart-burning tears away. I feel so lonely and tired. I cannot follow all your letter. I only know that you talked of parting, and that I am weary and miserable. MAUDE. (COPY OF TELEGRAM) _From Frank Crosse_, to _Miss Maude Selby_, _The Laurels_, _St. Albans_