"DEAR MISS HOLDEN,
"I wonder if I might claim an old man's privilege and call you 'Grace'? I should like to do so, for do you know there is not one of your sex in the wide world whom I have a right to address by the Christian name, and, what is perhaps more noteworthy, there is no other whose permission I have the least desire to ask. But somehow or other I am longing for kinsfolk to-day, and the sensation is almost inexpressibly acute, so much so that I actually feel the pain of loneliness, and that 'Inner Self' in which, I remember, you trust so completely, cries out for sympathy and companionship. If I mistake not we have common ideals and aspirations—you and I—which make us kin, and I am disposed to 'stretch out lame hands of faith' in your direction if haply I may find you and draw your soul to mine. So if it be your will, let us be friends, and do you send across the seas and deserts those mysterious waves of kindly feeling which will vibrate upon the heart of the solitary old man, to whom earth's messages of love come but seldom—now.
"Have I ever told you that I have not a relative on earth, and that I have outlived all my own friends? I sometimes feel to be like these old monuments on the banks of Nile, which stand calm and impassive whilst the children of this age picnic around their ruins; yet I am no patriarch, for I have not much overstepped the natural span of man's existence. I hope you may never experience the sensation, but the fact that you are yourself amongst earth's lone ones is not the least of the links that connect you to me.
"I stayed some weeks in Biarritz ... but the weather turned cold and wet, and the doctors bade me journey to Egypt. It is an unknown land to my material senses, but not to my spiritual. Every stone preaches to me of the familiar past. I have always revelled in ancient history and have kept abreast of modern discovery and research. For a while I enjoyed the company of my imagination, and we trod together the courts and temple corridors of the mighty kings of ancient days, and reconstructed their history. Sometimes, for brief periods, I have interesting conversations with men who are learned in all this lore; but imagination and learning are but cold companions, and I am longing for a hand-grasp and the look of love—longing, like the modern woman of whom Derwent speaks—for the unattainable.
"I am half ashamed of myself for writing in this strain, and half afraid of bringing a shadow over the spirit of the gentle soul whose sympathy I seek; but you must not worry on my account, for I am neither morbid nor unhappy, though sadness usually walks by my side. Indeed, life is strangely and even unaccountably dear to me just now, though I am perfectly sure that the 'call' is not far away, and when it comes I shall pass behind the curtain and face the unknown without fear and without regret.
"Of late I have caught myself wondering whether I shall ever return home and see the brown and purple moors again, and the homely people whom I love; and when the thought that I may not do so grips me I have just one overwhelming desire—a curious desire for the 'archæological old fossil' I am generally taken to be. Perhaps I am becoming weak and sentimental, but when the time comes and I have to go, I want someone who cares for me to 'see me off.' I should like my eyes to close to the sound of a woman's voice, I should like to feel the touch of a woman's hand, and maybe the kiss of a woman's lips; and I should like a few verses of Scripture and a simple hymn.
"I am an old fool, but the thought brings sweetness and peace with it; and it is as a father to a daughter that I ask this boon of you: When I hear the summons, will you come to me? Whether I am at home or abroad will you do me this service for love's sake? I have no claim upon anyone, and certainly none upon you, but my heart calls for you, and I believe yours will answer the call.
"For the present, letters addressed to the British Post Office, Cairo, will be forwarded to me, for I have no fixed address, but I shall look eagerly for your reply. Let me say in one word that I shall make provision for the expense of your journey if I should send for you, and I shall not send unless the call is clear.
"And now tell me of Windyridge.... Write to me when you can: give me all the news; tell me how the great quest for peace progresses, and believe that I am ever,
"Your very sincere friend,
"GEORGE EVANS."