The garden of resurrection : being the love story of an ugly man
The dread is not that I shall see her. The look in that little nursery maid's eyes, in many another woman's face as well, comes quickly into my mind and I know it is the dread that she will see me.

Is it from such men as I that women take advice? Sometimes I am afraid she will not listen to me, that she will never go back to her sunny islands; that she will let herself be taken into the heart of that underworld where her lover has the substance of his being, and there will be a still deeper sorrow, a greater trouble than before, which she will never bring to me.

It was a sore temptation then to tell Bellwattle how beautiful I know Clarissa to be. But I resisted it, and we returned that third evening without reward. It was the very next night, however, that our patience bore fruit.

"Are you two always going to go out in the evening?" asked Cruikshank, when we looked into the room to give him a friendly nod of the head.

"Come with us," said Bellwattle.

He shook us a negative, and I thought for the moment, I could not tell you why, that he was not happy; that somewhere in his philosophy, a link was loosened that made the whole chain weak.

"Do come," I said.

But he shook his head again.

"I've got this book to read," said he. "A man's more than a dog in the manger. He's not contented with the sole occupation of his stall; he wants other dogs to sit by and envy him. Out you go."

And out we went, but it was cold that night and, coming back to get a shawl for Bellwattle, I saw Cruikshank through a break in the curtains. His book was laid down upon the table and his face was hidden in his hands.

"There is no sense in disturbing a man when he's like that," I said to myself, but it fell heavily on my mind and I wondered whether any man's philosophy were complete.

When I came back to Bellwattle I said nothing. A man's wife knows more of him than does any outsider, and to ask her questions is only to put one's self further from the truth. Until we came to the Miss Fennell's house, we walked in silence. It was then, when I saw no light in Clarissa's window, that I felt the first intimation of what might soon be accomplished in the progress of my journey, and my hand went to my pocket to see that the letter was there.

"They've gone to bed 
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