"
Thinking of all this, he took comfort in spite of his trouble.
"Perhaps," he said to himself, "he was mistaken. Perhaps"--O happy
thought!--it was but make-believe displeasure which had so tortured
him. Perhaps--yes, he would believe it--she had never received his
letter; they had been careless, they had failed to give it her or to
send it aright. He would write her once again, in language which would
relieve his heart, and which she must comprehend. He loved her; perhaps,
ah, perhaps she loved him a little in return: he would believe so till
he was undeceived, and be infinitely happy in the belief.
Is it not wondrous how even the tiniest grain of love will permeate the
saddest and sorest recesses of the heart, and instantly cause it to
pulsate with thoughts and emotions the sweetest and dearest in life? O
Love, thou sweet, thou young and rose lipped cherubim, how does thy
smile illuminate the universe! how does thy slightest touch electrify
the soul! how gently and tenderly dost thou lead us up to heaven!
With Surrey, to decide was to act. The second letter, full of sweetest
yet intensest love,--his heart laid bare to her,--was written; was sent,
enclosed in one to his aunt. Tom was away in another section, fighting
manfully for the dear old flag, or the precious missive would have been
intrusted to his care. He sent it thus that it might reach her sooner.
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