I was hardly surprised to find the well-known hand on the envelope of a letter shortly afterward. I held it for a minute in my palm, with an absurd hope that I might sympathetically feel its character before breaking the seal. Then I read it with a great sense of relief.
"I have never assumed to guide a man, except toward the full
exercise of his powers. It is not opinion in action, but
opinion in a state of idleness or indifference, which repels
me. I am deeply glad that you have gained so much since you
left the country. If, in shaping your course, you have
thought of me, I will frankly say that, to that extent,
you have drawn nearer. Am I mistaken in conjecturing that
you wish to know my relation to the movement concerning
which you were recently interrogated? In this, as in other
instances which may come, I must beg you to consider me only
as a spectator. The more my own views may seem likely to
sway your action, the less I shall be inclined to declare
them. If you find this cold or unwomanly, remember that it
is not easy!"
Yes! I felt that I had certainly drawn much nearer to her. And from this time on, her imaginary face and form became other than they were. She was twenty-eight—three years older; a very little above the middle height, but not tall; serene, rather than stately, in her movements; with a calm, almost grave face, relieved by the sweetness of the full, firm lips; and finally eyes of pure, limpid gray, such as we fancy-belonged to the Venus of Milo. I found her thus much more attractive than with the dark eyes and lashes—but she did not make her appearance in the circles which I frequented.
Another year slipped away. As an official personage, my importance increased, but I was careful not to exaggerate it to myself. Many have wondered (perhaps you among the rest) at my success, seeing that I possess no remarkable abilities. If I have any secret, it is simply this—doing faithfully, with all my might, whatever I undertake. Nine-tenths of our politicians become inflated and careless, after the first few years, and are easily forgotten when they once lose place.
I am a little surprised now that I had so much patience with the Unknown. I was too important, at least, to be played with; too mature to be! subjected to a longer test; too earnest, as I had proved, to be doubted, or thrown aside without a further explanation.
Growing tired, at last, of silent waiting, I bethought me of advertising. A carefully written "Personal," in which Ignotus informed Ignota of the necessity of his communicating with her, appeared simultaneously in the "Tribune," "Herald," "World," and "Times." I renewed the advertisement as the time expired without an answer, and I think it was about the end of the third week before one came, through the post, as before.
Ah, yes! I had forgotten. See! my advertisement is pasted on the note, as a heading or motto for the manuscript lines. I don't know why the printed slip should give me a particular feeling of humiliation as I look at it, but such is the fact. What she wrote is all I need read to you:
"I could not, at first, be certain that this was meant for
me. If I were to explain to you why I have not written for
so long a time, I might give you one of the few clews which
I insist on keeping in my own hands. In your public
capacity, you have been ( so far as a woman may judge)
upright, independent, wholly manly in your relations with
other men I learn nothing of you that is not honorables
toward women you are kind, chivalrous, no doubt, overflowing
with the usual social refinements, but—Here, again, I
run hard upon the absolute necessity of silence. The way to
me, if you care to traverse it, is so simple, so very simple!
Yet, after what I have written, I can not even wave my
hand in the direction of it, without certain self-contempt.
When I feel free to tell you, we shall draw apart and remain
unknown forever.
"You desire to write? I do not prohibit it. I have
heretofore made no arrangement for hearing from you, in
turn, because I could not discover that any advantage would
accrue from it. But it seems only fair, I confess, and you
dare not think me capricious. So, three days hence, at six
o'clock in the evening, a trusty messenger of mine will call
at your door. If you have anything to give her for me, the
act of giving it must be the sign of a compact on your part
that you will allow her to leave immediately, unquestioned
and unfollowed."
You look puzzled, I see: you don't catch the real drift of her words? Well, that's a melancholy encouragement. Neither did I, at the time: it was plain that I had disappointed her in some way, and my intercourse with or manner toward women had something to do with it. In vain I ran over as much of my later social life as I could recall. There had been no special attention, nothing to mislead a susceptible heart; on the other side, certainly no rudeness, no want of "chivalrous" (she used the word!) respect and attention. What, in the name of all the gods, was the matter?
In spite of all my efforts to grow clearer, I was obliged to write my letter in a rather muddled state of mind. I had so much to say! sixteen folio pages, I was sure, would only suffice for an introduction to the case; yet, when the creamy vellum lay before me and the moist pen drew my fingers toward it, I sat stock dumb for half an hour. I wrote, finally, in a half-desperate mood, without regard to coherency or logic. Here's a rough draft of a part of the letter, and a single passage from it will be enough: