So Sappha had her love letters, and she also wrote them. Leonard’s were like himself, frankly outspoken, full of extravagancy, both in love and war. “He loved her as never man loved before;” and she saw the words shine on the paper, and believed in them with all her soul. “He longed for those unspeakable English tyrants to come within reach of their guns, they would be sunk twenty fathoms deep in no time--then, then, then, oh, then he would fly to her, as a bird to its nest!” Love and glory mingled thus, until love took entire possession; then the conclusion was a passionate exploiting of that yearning word “_why?_” “_Why_ could they not be married when he returned? _Why_ should they wait? _Why_ did she not think as he did? _Why_ consider the war at all? _Why_ let that old tyrant of a motherland called England interfere in their happiness? _Why_ let anything? Or anybody?” There had been little parties of visitors at the Narrows, “_Why_ had she not persuaded her father and mother to sail so far with her? _Why_, in short, did she not understand that life was dreadfully dull in the fort, and that a sight of her would be heaven to him? _Why? Why? Why_ did she not love him as wildly and fondly and eternally as he loved her?” All this exaggeration was the most beautiful truth to Sapphira. She adored her lover for the very prodigality of his pleas and protestations. It was right and proper that lovers should suffer all the pangs of separation; she was rather proud of Leonard’s wailing and complaining; and careful not to comfort it too much, by comparing it with her own. Indeed she rather affected the style of a sweet little mentor, bound to remind him that he must love honour, even before herself. And she so blended their own hopes and happiness with domestic and public affairs as to make her letters all that a daily paper might be to a man shut up in prison, or in a fort in a wilderness. Leonard saw through them, the New York he loved, the busy, hopeful people, talking, trading, singing, smoking, loving, living through every sense they had; and he felt with the keenest delight all Sappha’s sweet self-disparagements and compunctions for her own happiness and good fortune in being beloved by him.