The garden of resurrection : being the love story of an ugly man
interest. He will give me the full of his attention so long as I talk to him; but it is more than he can stand when I take up a pen and, except for the scratching of it on the paper, sit in silence at my table. The sound of scratching, to begin with, annoys him; then, again, although he has tried, he cannot understand one word of what I write. On these occasions he wanders aimlessly round the room, coming back at intervals to my chair to try and catch my eye. Failing many times in this, he at last throws himself in despair upon the hearthrug where, lying with his nose between his two fore-paws, he day-dreams—dreams of past adventures in which he figures as the hero, and I, if indeed I appear in them at all, am just a super on an over-crowded stage. He behaved no differently this morning, except that as I sat down and dipped my pen in the ink, he yawned. He had never done that before. I took no notice. I wrote my letter. Here is what I said:

"Clarissa,—I know your eyes are not bad. I know all about it. I have seen him in London and I want to tell you something. Can you manage to meet me one evening round the cliffs? Try and think how you can arrange it. I must see you alone."

Clarissa

I did not sign it because I had determined that if it were to be delivered at all, it must be with my own hands. But how? It had all the difficulties attached to it as I remember having experienced when I was a boy at school. At the church where we went every Sunday, there attended also a neighboring school of girls. It was my fortune that one of them should catch my eye. From Sunday to Sunday those glances continued, till at last they held a smile. She smiled at me. I could hardly believe it to be true. Again I looked and again she smiled. Then I remember how I tore from my hymn-book that page containing the hymn:

 "Can a woman's tender care Cease toward the child she bare? Yes, she may forgetful be, Yet will I remember thee." 

"Can a woman's tender care

Cease toward the child she bare?

Yes, she may forgetful be,

Yet will I remember thee."


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