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 forme. If I were to explain to you why I have not written forso long a time, I might give you one of the few clews whichI insist on keeping in my own hands. In your publiccapacity, you have been ( so far as a woman may judge)upright, independent, wholly manly in your relations withother men I learn nothing of you that is not honorablestoward women you are kind, chivalrous, no doubt, overflowingwith the usualsocial refinements, but—Here, again, Irun hard upon the absolute necessity of silence. The way tome, if you care to traverse it, is so simple, so very simple!Yet, after what I have written, I can not even wave myhand in the direction of it, without certain self-contempt.When I feel free to tell you, we shall draw apart and remainunknown forever."You desire to write? I do not prohibit it. I haveheretofore made no arrangement for hearing from you, inturn, because I could not discover that any advantage wouldaccrue from it. But it seems only fair, I confess, and youdare not think me capricious. So, three days hence, at sixo'clock in the evening, a trusty messenger of mine will callat your door. If you have anything to give her for me, theact of giving it must be the sign of a compact on your partthat you will allow her to leave immediately, unquestionedand 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:

I can conceive of no simpler way to you than the knowledgeof your name and address. I have drawn airy images of you,but they do not become incarnate, and I am not sure that Ishould recognize you in the brief moment of passing. Yournature is not of those which are instantly legible. As anabstract power, it has wrought in my life and it continuallymoves my heart with desires which are unsatisfactory becauseso vague and ignorant. Let me offer you, personally, mygratitude, my earnest friendship: you would laugh if I were nowto offer more.

Stay! here is another fragment, more reckless in tone:

"I want to find the woman whom I can love—who can love me.But this is a masquerade where the features are hidden, thevoice disguised, even the hands grotesquely gloved. Come! Iwill venture more than I ever thought was possible to me.You shall know my deepest nature as I myself seem to knowit. Then, give me the commonest chance of learning yours,through an intercourse which shall leave both free, shouldwe not feel the closing of the inevitable bond!"

After I had written that, the pages filled rapidly. When the appointed hour arrived, a bulky epistle, in a strong linen envelope, sealed with five wax seals, was waiting on my table. Precisely at six there was an announcement: the door opened, and a little outside, in the shadow, I saw an old woman, in a threadbare dress of rusty black.