“I went to my room, had my maid dress my hair carefully, then retired. Moments seemed as hours; hours as days. I was feverish and delirious. My maid insisted on calling a physician, but I would not hear to it. I gave orders to be left alone. The breeze fanned the lace curtains at the windows in a merry ripple; the soft mellow light of the setting sun shed a glow of golden hue throughout the room. My temples throbbed, my pulse fluttered, my eyes burned, as I bravely battled to kill time. Then the thought: What if he should not come? Cold sweat took the place of parching fever, and so I passed the early evening, going from one paroxysm to another. At last the bell rang, then that voice as I heard Lannie say, ‘Thank you,’ to the maid as she opened the door. My clean white gown was badly rumpled, my well dressed hair was in a confusion of disorder from the feverish tossing of the day, but I forgot all that; I forgot my appearances, feelings, manners, everything, only that Lannie was with me again. As he bent over my bed with anxious questions, I was quite happy. Suddenly reaching out my arms, I clasped them around his neck. Oh, the holy emotions, the rage of my love knew no master. I clung to him; he tried to free himself, but no, no! I would rather have died than give him up. Great, strong Lannie of Herculean strength, one who could have held a horse, or felled an ox by a blow of his strong right arm; one who could withstand the ravages of pestilence and disease; one on whom weak men looked with that feeling of admiration born of awe; one whose strength, broad judgment, and kindly temperament made him easily the master of any and all situations. But with all his bravery and fortitude, all his battles, all his years of duration, he had never been called upon to wage war upon a woman whose soul was starving for the loving caress, which is so dear to a lonely heart. He was as wax in my hands, as I clutched him fiercely yet fondly. ‘Oh, Lannie, Lannie! say that you love me,’ I cried, all the time raining kisses on his dear face, while he acquiesced in mute silence. With his eyes dilated, his nostrils distended, his lips drawn and white, he fought the silent battle which led to his defeat. In his years of physical building he had never been called upon to withstand the onslaught which I now brought to bear upon him; he had never been drilled in the tactics necessary to repel the attacks of passion. I could see my victory coming; the light of his eyes told me that the world was fast melting away. Then suddenly he clasped me to his dear self, saying, ‘Oh, Ailene, what is it? Why can I not go away from you? Yes, little girl, I love you, I love you.’ “‘Kiss me, Lannie. There, dear; yes, that is right, Lannie! Hold me in your arms. Now, dearest, we are happy.’