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Chapter 35

           Ifoundoutallabouther—thatshewasyoung,good-looking,ofanoblecharacterandunblemishedreputation,andthatheronlyenemieswerethepress-critics.ThislastpointwassomuchinherfavourwithmethatIatonceboughteverythingshehadeverwritten,andherworksbecame,asitwere,myhavenofrest.Hertheoriesoflifearestrange,poetic,idealandbeautiful;—thoughIhavenotbeenabletoacceptthemorworkthemoutinmyowncase,Ihavealwaysfeltsoothedandcomfortedforawhileintheveryactofwishingtheyweretrue.Andthewomanislikeherbooks—strange,poetic,idealandbeautiful—howodditistothinkthatsheiswithintenminuteswalkofmenow!—IcouldsendforherifIliked,andtellherall—butshewouldpreventmecarryingoutmyresolve.Shewouldclingtomewoman-likeandkissme,andholdmyhandsandsay‘No,Sibyl,no!Youarenotyourself—youmustcometomeandrest!’Anoddfancyhasseizedme,...Iwillopenmywindowandcallherverygently—shemightbeinthegardencomingheretoseeme—andifshehearsandanswers,whoknows!—why,perhapsmyideasmaychange,andfateitselfmaytakeadifferentcourse!

           Well,Ihavecalledher.Ihavesenthername‘Mavis!’softlyoutonthesunshineandstillairthreetimes,andonlyalittlebrownnamesakeofhers,athrush,swingingonabranchoffir,answeredmewithhislowautumnalpiping.Mavis!Shewillnotcome—to-dayGodwillnotmakeherHismessenger.

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