“She loves you?”
“I’ve hoped so, I don’t know. She lets me feel it without words.”
“We are friends, what can I do?”
“See her and beg her for God’s sake to let me call, at least to read my letters. Will you go to-day?”
“Immediately.”
“Thank you,” he cried, again tenderly pressing her hand. “You must have loved too, Miss Susie.”
“Perhaps I have,” was the soft reply. “Write your message and I’ll take it.”
John seated himself and hastily wrote:
My dear Stella:
From the bottom of a heart crushed with anguish I ask your pardon for my lack of faith. Your pride was right. Give me a chance and I will show you what the trust of perfect love means for me. I await from you the words of life or death.