`My dear Ernest:—Shame prevents me
from coming to you to-night, for I cannot
but feel that I have acted treacherously towards
you. Whilst you were with M. Duval,
I was alone with Marie. The conversation
as of you, dear Ernest. Judge of my surprise
when she told me that she could not
be yours—that she loved another. Then
I forgot my duty to you, and instead of
pleading for you, fell upon my knees before
her, and pleaded for myself; for you must
know that I too had loved her—long loved
her in secret. I told her how I had concealed
my passion for your sake—how I had
resolved to sacrifice my own happiness to
promote your bliss.
`But if you love him not,' said I,
not say that you love another! To
could yield, but with another I will
until the last. For I love you as
ever will or can.'
`Do not curse me, Ernest, for
do not hate me when I say that
her lovely hand upon my own, and
tears of joy chased each other down her
lovely cheek, confessed that, although she
loved another beside you, that other was myself!
`Heavens! how can I describe my joy—
intoxication! But then, dear Ernest, I
thought of you! Joy is no longer my lot—I
am miserable—dying with remorse.
`Write immediately, and say that you
forgive me.
`Your devoted friend,
`Maurice.'
