So another night passed by; and then, with the morning, came a letter which made me feel, at the same instant, like a fool and a hero.  It had been dropped in the Wampsocket post-office, was legibly addressed to me, and delivered with some other letters which had arrived by the night mail.  Here it is; listen!

“Noto Ignota!—­Haste is not a gift of the gods, and you have been impatient, with the usual result, I was almost prepared for this, and thus am not wholly disappointed.  In a day or two more you will discover your mistake, which, so far as I can learn, has done no particular harm.  If you wish to find me, there is only one way to seek me; should I tell you what it is, I should run the risk of losing you,—­that is, I should preclude the manifestation of a certain quality which I hope to find in the man who may—­or, rather, must—­be my friend.  This sounds enigmatical, yet you have read enough of my nature, as written in these random notes in my sketch-book, to guess, at least, how much I require.  Only this let me add:  mere guessing is useless.

   “Being unknown, I can write freely.  If you find
   me, I shall be justified; if not, I shall hardly need
   to blush, even to myself, over a futile experiment.

“It is possible for me to learn enough of your life, henceforth, to direct my relation toward you.  This may be the end; if so, I shall know it soon.  I shall also know whether you continue to seek me.  Trusting in your honor as a man, I must ask you to trust in mine, as a woman.”

* * * * *

I did discover my mistake, as the Unknown promised.  There had been a secret betrothal between Fisher and Miss Danvers; and singularly enough, the momentous question and answer had been given in the very ravine leading to my upper dell!  The two meant to keep the matter to themselves, but therein, it seems, I thwarted them; there was a little opposition on the part of their respective families, but all was amicably settled before I left Wampsocket.

The letter made a very deep impression upon me.  What was the one way to find her?  What could it be but the triumph that follows ambitious toil—­the manifestation of all my best qualities, as a man?  Be she old or young, plain or beautiful, I reflected, hers is surely a nature worth knowing, and its candid intelligence conceals no hazards for me.  I have sought her rashly, blundered, betrayed that I set her lower, in my thoughts, than her actual self:  let me now adopt the opposite course, seek her openly no longer, go back to my tasks, and, following my own aims vigorously and cheerfully, restore that respect which she seemed to be on the point of losing.  For, consciously or not, she had communicated to me a doubt, implied in the very expression of her own strength and pride.  She had meant to address me as an equal, yet, despite herself, took a stand a little above that which she accorded to me.