Fifteen years later we met in New York. We drove through Central Park and I told her the truth. When I had finished she said nothing; for almost an hour we drove in silence. She then turned to me and simply replied, "Well I've waited all these years to prove what I thought was true. It is over now and I presume we both are happy."
Are we? I wonder!
It was Poe who wrote Annabel Lee:—
The moon never beams
Without bringing me dreams
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee.
It is a strange world. The young lady married some few years ago. I hope she is happy; she deserves to be.
THE CONFESSIONAL
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call to-day his own;
He, who, secure within, can say:
"Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day!"