This is
folly, you will say; well, perhaps it is; you know I like to
be sentimental sometimes, and I am in just such a mood to-
night. Is it folly too to say, that after all the years since
we parted, I still miss you? and yet so it is. Sometimes
sitting by the fire of an evening, or looking out at the
twilight garden, I seem to hear a voice and a step, and half
expect to see my pretty Maud--you tell me you are altered, but
I cannot realize it, and yet, of course, you must be; we are
both growing old women now--we two girls will never meet again.
Don't laugh at me if I tell you a dream I had last night; I
dreamt that..." Below these words the page had been destroyed,
but there was more written on the other side, and Madelon read
on:
"... no doubt tired of all this about my love and regrets and
sympathy, and you have heard it all before, have you not? Only
believe it, Magdalen, for it comes from my heart. I think
sometimes from your letters that you doubt it, that you doubt
me; never do that--trust me when I say that my love for you is
a part of myself, that can only end with life and
consciousness.
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