For now always my only regret is, when I have stolen five dollars, that I did not steal ten while I was about it. It is a long time ago since I was six. February 17. To-day I walked over the hill where the sun vanishes down in the afternoon. I followed the sun so far as I could, but two even very good legs can do no more than carry one into the midst of the sunshine--and then one may stand and take leave, lovingly, of it. I stood in the valley below the hill and looked away at the gold-yellow mountains that rise into the cloudy blue, and at the long gray stretches of rolling sand. It all reminded me of the Devil and the Happiness he will bring me. Some day the Devil will come to me and say: “Come with me.” And I will answer: “Yes.” And he will take me away with him to a place where it is wet and green--where the yellow, yellow sunshine falls on heaven-kissing hills, and misty, cloudy masses float over the valleys. And for days I shall be happy--happy--happy! For _days_! The Devil and I will love each other intensely, perfectly--for days! He will be incarnate, but he will not be a man. He will be the man-devil, and his soul will take mine to itself and they will be one--for days. Imagine me raised out of my misery and obscurity, dullness and Nothingness, into the full, brilliant life of the Devil--for days! The love of the man-devil will enter into my barren, barren life and melt all the cold, hard things, and water the barrenness, and a million little green growing plants will start out of it; and a clear, sparkling spring will flow over it--through the dreary, sandy stretches of my bitterness, among the false stony roadways of my pain and hatred. And a great rushing, flashing cataract of melting love will flow over my weariness and unrest and wash it away forever. My soul will be fully awakened and there will be a million little sweet new souls in the green growing things. And they will fill my life with everything that is beautiful--tenderness, and divineness, and compassion, and exaltation, and uplifting grace, and light, and rest, and gentleness, and triumph, and truth, and peace. My life will be borne far out of self, and self will sink quietly out of sight--and I shall see it farther and farther away, until it disappears. “It is the last--the _last_--of that Mary MacLane,” I will say, and I will feel a long, sighing, quivering farewell. A thousand years of misery--and now a million years of Happiness. When the sun is setting in the valley and the crests of those heaven-kissing hills are painted violet and purple, and the valley itself is reeking and swimming in yellow-gold light, the man-devil--whom I love more than all--and I will go out into it. We will be saturated in the yellow light of the sun and the gold light of Love.