How I triumphed inwardly on the perusal of this letter! I placed it in my pocket, and taking my hat and cane, I left my lodgings and walked about the streets with a buoyant step, hoping to meet Merrivale, just to crow over him for disbelieving my vision. I would have called upon him, had I known his address, but I saw no more of my friend--at least, for some time afterwards. It happened that on that very evening a piece was being performed at our theatre in which I did not act, and I thought I would be a spectator for once in a way, so, from caprice, I took the very box in which I had seen Maud. On entering the box I experienced all the awe and veneration of a pious devotee when he kneels at some holy shrine. "This place has been visited by Maud's spirit," said I to myself, as I shut myself in. "This is the very chair she used." I seated myself, and the curtain drew up. It was a melodrama, if I remember rightly, which was acted that night, but I was so occupied with my thoughts about Maud, that I really cannot say with certainty what piece it was. The audience applauded every now and then, so I suppose it took well. As for myself, I had fallen into a reverie of which Maud was the subject. That stage box had for me a certain sanctity and purity since the first time I had seen her there. Whether it was that on this evening I had not my part to think of and so felt my mind open to other thoughts than those connected with my profession, or whether this hallowed spot awoke in my breast certain feelings, I know not, but certain it was that never had Maud so thoroughly taken possession of my thoughts as on that evening. I attempted to analyse my thoughts. What was it that I felt for Maud? What was it that made me think more of her than of other girls? And why did I think more and more about her every day? I hardly knew myself how to answer these questions. Was it--could it be--no--_love_, that I felt for her? No! it was not that; at least, if it was, it was not like other men's love. It was a feeling far purer, far loftier than falls to the lot of ordinary men's experience. I thought that the world did not--never did, nor ever could contain another Maud. She was different to the rest of her kind. _Her_ beauty, _her_ talents, _her_ beautiful nature, could never excite in me such a vulgar passion as that which the world calls love. The thought never entered my head to make her my own, and I was content to worship her at a distance. I began to wonder to myself if Maud could be aware of the strong impression she had made upon me. I even dared to hope, though humbly, very humbly, she might not _quite_ have forgotten _me_; that there was still a spare corner in her memory--I had nearly said _heart_--left vacant in which I might crave a home.