I sat down and penned the most vivid sketch of my present grief, asking her to reconsider the former decision she had given against me. I was certain, I said, that it was only through _her_ influence that Min had rejected me; and I earnestly besought her good will. I was now in a better position, I urged, than I had been the previous year, my income being nearly doubled--thanks to Government and what I was able to reap from my literary lucubrations:--what more could she require? Besides, my assets would increase, at the least, by the ten pound bonus which a grateful country annually aggregates to the salary of its victims each year--not to speak of the fortune I might make by my "connection with the press!" In fact, I said everything that I could, to colour my case and get judgment recorded in my favour. But, my toil was all in vain! I sent over my letter by a servant, with instructions to leave it at the door; while, I, waited in all the evening expecting an answer, in breathless suspense. None came; but, next morning I received back my own despatch enclosed in another envelope, unopened, unread. I went down to the office that day in quite a cheerful mood again, I can tell you! How I did enjoy Brown's balderdash; the witty sallies of Smith; Robinson's repartees; Jones' jocosities! When, after my official labours, I returned again to Saint Canon's that evening, I made another attempt to see Mrs Clyde. No. The servant who answered the door, when I timidly called for the third time at the house, told me that instructions had been given to say "not at home" always _to me_. Pleasant! War had been declared:--a "guerre a outrance," as I had anticipated; but, it was a struggle in which I was stretched on the ground at my adversary's mercy, with her vengeful blade at my heart! I then wrote to Min. It was a long letter. I bewailed my hasty severance of the old relations between us, and asked her to have pity on my sad fate. I poured out all the flood of feeling which had deluged my breast since we had parted at the party. I begged, I implored her not to desert me at her mother's bidding. My letter I posted, so that it should not be stopped en route, and returned to me unread by my darling, whom I asked to write to me, if only one line, to tell me that she had really received my appeal safely--requesting her, also, to reply to me at my office that I might get her answer in the soonest possible time. I dreamt of her subsequently, the whole night through:--it was a horrible dream! A third day of torture in my governmental mill. Six mortal hours more of dreary misery; and, helpless boredom at the hands of Smith, Brown, Jones, and Robinson! And, then, I got my reply.