[Aptitude-devel] . "'Yes, Enos, DEAR Enos! henc

[Yanish R. <vec...@ge...>]

 your fine
and delicate fibres be knit into this coarse texture? Ignorance,
which years cannot wash away,--low instincts, what do YOU know?--all
the servile side

of life, which is turned from you,--what madness to
choose this, because some current of earthly magnetism sets along
your nerves? He loves you: what of that? You are a higher being to
him,

and he stupidly adores you. Think,--yes, DARE to
think of all the prosaic realities
of life, shared with him!" Miss Bartram felt

herself growing dizzy. Behind the impulse which bade her cast herself
upon his breast swept such a hot wave of shame and pain that her face
burned, and she dropped her eyelids to shut out the sight of his
face. But, for one
endless second, the sweeter voice spoke through their clasped hands.
Perhaps he kissed hers; she did not know;
she only heard herself murmur:
"Good-bye! Pray go on; I will rest here." She sat down upon a bank by
the roadside, turned away her head, and closed her eyes. It was
long before

the tumult in her nature subsided. If she reflected, with a sense of
relief, "nothing was said," the thought immediately followed,

"but all is known." It was impossible,--yes, clearly impossible; and
then came such a wild longing, such an assertion
of the right and truth and justice of love, as made her seem a
miserable coward, the veriest sl