Tales of the City Room
happy life. There has not been a day in which the thought of her has not been with me, an undercurrent in everything I did or said. When I have seen little children together I have thought of the days when Dolores and I played in childish love and happiness, and of the nights when one of us would creep out of her own little bed to go and sleep in the other's arms."
She stopped for a moment.
"Can you understand it?" she went on. "I cannot. It is one of those incredible things that happen in real life. A year ago, after I had lost trace of her for a long time, she wrote me. It was the first time since we were parted. The letter was dated from the convent. She had been staying there, it seems. She told me that she had decided to take the veil and that there was no longer any bitterness in her heart toward me; nothing but love. I wrote at once, imploring her to reconsider her decision and to come to me. I begged and entreated and humbled myself in the dust—to no effect. There was no reply. I feel now that they may not have allowed her to write—and perhaps she did
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