that you would believe me; but I could not keep from feeling the vast gulf between the wealth of our two hearts, which each of us could offer the other: for I, for the first time, was offering my whole self, at one stroke, forever — while the words of your poem still rang in my ears...

And now let me paint for you, in the simple words that come to me, the effect your presence in person produced. For the first time in my life I felt — when you crossed the threshold of the room, pale of face, hesitant of step, mournful, your heart bleeding, and fixed your eyes upon mine for one brief moment — I felt the existence of spiritual influences which reason cannot reach and over which it has no dominion. I looked, and I saw Helen — my Helen — the Helen of a thousand dreams... this woman whom God created to be mine — mine and mine alone — if not now and in this earthly life, then in the paradise of eternity, where life endures forever and bliss abides. You murmured words you were hardly conscious of. As for me, no speech reached my hearing; I heard only a soft voice which I felt was no stranger to me — a voice my ear knew better than it knew my own...

And I took your soft hand in mine, and felt rapture and delight creep through my body. Were it not for my fear of disturbing you or wounding you, I would have bowed down then, humbly, at your feet, as men kneel before the idol or the god they worship.

While you paced the room, on those two successive evenings, to and fro — now sitting beside me, now keeping far from me, or standing with your hand upon a chair, so that the trembling and the emotion pierced the wood and reached the depths of my heart — while you moved thus about the room, as though deep sorrow or great joy contended within you — I was your captive; all my senses were suspended; I did not see you, I did not hear or grasp what you were saying. Nothing was aware of you then but my keenly feeling soul.

Let me quote a passage from your letter to me: "With all my great esteem for your understanding,

and my admiration for your genius — which make me feel small and insignificant as a child in your presence — I do not think you know that I am older than you..." Suppose, for argument's sake, that this were the truth: do you not feel, in the innermost core of your heart, that the "love of the soul," of which everyone speaks, is, at this moment at least, the truest love — nay, the absolute true love? Has the soul an age, Helen? Has time any part in eternity? What are the meager years worth in the eyes of the immortal soul, which has no beginning and knows no end? Ah, my patience is almost spent, and a fierce anger against you takes hold of me, for what you cast at the truth of my sacred passion, wounding it.

... Did I not see you, Helen? Did I not hear the ring of your sweet, musical voice? Did not my heart begin its beating at your magical smile? Did I not take your hand in mine and gaze into the depths of your soul through your beautiful crystalline eyes? Did I not do all this! Was I awake, or in a dream? Or am I possessed?

... You are ever the life of my life, Helen! I can do nothing but love you and worship you!.. Who ever uttered your name with his lips without being moved, and singing your praise? Who ever set eyes upon you without your taking the fairest place in his soul?

Were I a man of means, able to secure you a serene and happy life, I should be the proudest of men to ask love of you... Ah, Helen! My soul! What is this I have said to you? And what have I asked you to do? If I appear before you, my dearest, in the guise of a selfish man, I beg you to believe that I love you truly, and that this love is spiritual, even if it issues from the depths of an infatuated heart. For God's sake, Helen, think — for my sake and for yours...

Be not slow in writing to me, and make your letters short. Do not trouble yourself, nor lay upon yourself, for my sake, more than you can bear. Repeat in my ears those words which turn the earth into the paradise of eternity.