The light disappeared. He would have to make sure of her silence. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed.
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