An Impossible Coincidence [pp. 66-81]

An Impossible Coincidence.
know the fluid in my veins runs as blue as
his own.
"Good night, Harry, from your scared, but
not yet penitent sister,
"THEODORA TESSENAM."
I don't suppose, Boscawen, I could make
you realize the view of myself with which I
folded up those letters. It made a differ ence, of course, that I was so profoundly and
irretrievably in love with the girl. She
turned from the window when she heard me
rise from my chair. I did not shirk meet ing her eyes. I hated myself too much for
that; I almost felt that I could shake hands
with her over her opinion of the fellow.
"I will wish you good-day, Miss Tesse nam," I said.
"My letters, please," she said.
"They are in my pocket. I am going to
keep them, Miss Tessenam."
She looked at me keenly. What she could
not guess was that even stinging words in that
particular trim, frank handwriting had a
value to me; but of the other half of my
two-fold object in keeping the letters, she
seemed to divine something.
"As you please," she said, more gently.
I moved to the door, and she followed with
cool civility. At the door I stopped, and
made some motion to offer my hand. She
stepped back a little and bowed.
I could not go so, for my very soul cried
out for her. "Miss Tessenam," I said, "if
some time in the future I should be able to
come back to you with some title to your respect -"
She broke in impatiently.
"Don't, Mr. Boscawen! I can't endure to
have any sentimental conversation with you.
I beg you to leave anything of that sort unsaid."
I —lifted my hat and walked off; and left
there the only thing I seriously care for in
this world.
But don't imagine that is the end of it.
The end will be when the end of me comes.
I have no more intention of giving her up
than of giving up my life. I imagined once
it was a fine thing to be in love with a sweet
voiced English girl. The whole affair was
half-affectation, and I resigned her easily
enough to a title. This affair breaks sharp
off all my old life and begins a new one. I
am going to go to work; and it will be some thing hard and useful, and-mark you, Bos cawen-something that is uncompromisingly
bad form, according to our old codes and
formulas. Yours, as you choose,
EVERETT BOSCAWEN.
Miss Theodora Tessenam wcrites from San
Francisco to her brother, Harold Tessenam,
at Harvard College.
June 2d, 1884.
DEAR HARRY:
I have a curious story to tell you-one
that has caused me some embarrassment.
I went out to Berkeley this Commencement,
and saw some of your old High School boys'
among the students, and several of my cotemporaries among the younger alumni.
Will Camden, who has been out a year or
two now, came and sat in front of me in
alumni meeting, and turned round in his
chair and chatted during the interstices,
Camden always was an enthusiastic sort of a
fellow, and managed to get through college
without learning to be ashamed to confess
enthusiasm; so pretty soon he began:
"By the way, Miss Tessenam, I'm expecting a friend whom I'm very anxious to introduce to you. He's a magnificent fellow;
grandest man I ever knew. If I were a few
years younger I should get up a perfect heroworship for him. He's a finely educated man,
of good family, still young, not many years
older than I, and has a comfortable property;
yet he has been, this last year, teaching a country school in my county, purely because he
says he wanted to have a hand in the real, genuine work of civilization. And, Miss Tessenam, you can't think what a power that [nan
has been in our neighborhood! He has made
our rough farmers and wild boys believe in
education, and, what is more, in fineness,
and high-mindedness, and gentleness. I tell
you, sir," he exclaimed, sacrificing accuracy
of address to emphasis, "I tell you, sir, it
was something fine to see that man going
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