There, under the shadow of the quadrangle which her young strides measured, she spoke of what, with you in her life, the years must be. Beyond words you are blessed, Herbert. But if she mistakes?
D.K.
XXXV
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME
Stanford University.
November 27, 19—.
Be outspoken! What will happen I can only surmise, but you must tell her what she is to you. Set her right.
This is the fourth letter in seven days about Hester. I am endeavouring to make you acquainted with her. I had no need if you loved her. How she loves you! Yet she thinks that your calm is depth, your silence prayer. Her pride protects her, but she strains for the word which does not come. She has never been quite sure, and I thank God for that. Hester has been fearing somewhat, and she has been doubting, and it is this that may save her when the night sets in and the storm breaks over her head.
You, too, are thankful that her instincts served her true and that she never quite accepted the gift that seemed to have been proffered?