October 16.
What an ideal spot! It beggars description. We are so happy. Sometimes we stroll together through the woods, where the warm tinted Autumn leaves make a soft carpet for our feet. When we tire, we sit down and he reads to me by the hour. What a beautiful world! I never dreamed of such tender solicitude as he shows me in every action. At night if I stir or murmur in my sleep, he awakens me by drawing me closer to his heart and saying, “What is it, pet, are you in pain?” I laugh at him and tell him he must not be so foolish. He says in reply that he loves me every minute of the day and night, that his thoughts are filled with me, whether waking or sleeping, and that he loves to waken me for he is sure of two soft arms stealing around his neck in a warm embrace, and two red lips seeking his.
November 1.
Oh, dear! It is all ever, this, the very happiest month of my life. As we were about to leave the room where we have been so happy for the last time, he clasped me to his breast and sobbed like a baby and I wept with him. Oh, dear! how can I ever give him up again to those to whom he belongs?
November 6.
At home once more. I am so lonely and desolate. Little diary, I wonder if this is punishment. Yet, if I have done no wrong, why should I think this is punishment?
November 23.
Dear God! If I might have been spared this great agony! Anything but this! My idol shattered and my heart broken. He was not true, and I trusted him so implicitly! How could he deceive me so? There was another woman who entered his life before he ever met me. She either heard or imagined that he had transferred his affections to me and came to me with all, asking me to give him up, because he is all she has in the world. She has no home, no one to care for her and supply her wants as I have. How could he do it? How could he do it? Not quite a year. Oh, the agony of it!
I went to him with her statement and he said it was true, but that he never loved her. I cannot believe him. I cannot believe anyone or anything now. I have no one I can tell. I must suffer all alone. Florence is the only one and I would die before I would tell her. My pride won’t allow me to admit his perfidy to anyone. I cannot bear to have the world think ill of him, even now. How can I live and bear it? I will not. I cannot. I will end it all. Goodbye, little diary, my only faithful friend. You, too, might have proved false had you the power. Goodbye.