Yes!  I felt that I had certainly drawn much nearer to her.  And from this time on, her imaginary face and form became other than they were.  She was twenty-eight—­three years older; a very little above the middle height, but not tall; serene, rather than stately, in her movements; with a calm, almost grave face, relieved by the sweetness of the full, firm lips; and finally eyes of pure, limpid gray, such as we fancy belonged to the Venus of Milo.  I found her, thus, much more attractive than with the dark eyes and lashes—­but she did not make her appearance in the circles which I frequented.

Another year slipped away.  As an official personage, my importance increased, but I was careful not to exaggerate it to myself.  Many have wondered (perhaps you among the rest) at my success, seeing that I possess no remarkable abilities.  If I have any secret, it is simply this—­doing faithfully, with all my might, whatever I undertake.  Nine tenths of our politicians become inflated and careless, after the first few years, and are easily forgotten when they once lose place.  I am a little surprised, now, that I had so much patience with the Unknown.  I was too important, at least, to be played with; too mature to be subjected to a longer test; too earnest, as I had proved, to be doubted, or thrown aside without a further explanation.

Growing tired, at last, of silent waiting, I bethought me of advertising.  A carefully-written “Personal,” in which Ignotus informed Ignota of the necessity of his communicating with her, appeared simultaneously in the Tribune, Herald, World, and Times.  I renewed the advertisement as the time expired without an answer, and I think it was about the end of the third week before one came, through the post, as before.

Ah, yes!  I had forgotten.  See! my advertisement is pasted on the note, as a heading or motto for the manuscript lines.  I don’t know why the printed slip should give me a particular feeling of humiliation as I look at it, but such is the fact.  What she wrote is all I need read to you: 

“I could not, at first, be certain that this was meant for me.  If I were to explain to you why I have not written for so long a time, I might give you one of the few clews which I insist on keeping in my own hands.  In your public capacity, you have been (so far as a woman may judge) upright, independent, wholly manly:  in your relations with other men I learn nothing of you that is not honorable:  toward women you are kind, chivalrous, no doubt, overflowing with the usual social refinements, but—­Here, again, I run hard upon the absolute necessity of silence.  The way to me, if you care to traverse it, is so simple, so very simple!  Yet, after what I have written, I cannot even wave my hand in the direction of it, without certain self-contempt.  When I feel free to tell you, we shall draw apart and remain unknown forever.