for me and wait on me as if I were a princess. But that is
not the way at all. Love makes you very humble and you want
to do everything yourself for the one you love.

August 10.

Paul went home to-day. Oh, it is so terrible! I don't know
how I can bear to live even for a little while without him.
But this is silly of me, because I know he has to go and he
will write often and come to me often. But, still, it is so
lonesome. I didn't cry when he left me because I wanted him
to remember me smiling in the way he liked best, but I have
been crying ever since and I can't stop, no matter how hard I
try. We have had such a beautiful fortnight. Every day
seemed dearer and happier than the last, and now it is ended
and I feel as if it could never be the same again. Oh, I am
very foolish--but I love him so dearly and if I were to lose
his love I know I would die.

August 17.

I think my heart is dead. But no, it can't be, for it aches
too much.

Paul's mother came here to see me to-day. She was not angry
or disagreeable. I wouldn't have been so frightened of her
if she had been. As it was, I felt that I couldn't say a
word. She is very beautiful and stately and wonderful, with
a low, cold voice and proud, dark eyes. Her face is like
Paul's but without the loveableness of his.