I had expected to send this letter by some one in your own regiment when it marched. But now I shall intrust it to the runner.

“I know not how to close my letter — how to say farewell — how to let you know how truly my heart is yours. And becomes more so every hour. Nor can you understand how humbly I thank God for you — that you are what you are — and not like Sir John and — other men.

“Women are of a multitude of kinds — until they love. Then they are of but two kinds. Of one of these kinds shall I be when I love. Not that I doubt myself, yet, who can say what I shall be? Only three, Euan — God, the man who loves me, and myself.”

“I sit here waiting for a rifleman to take my