Have a fresh draft made. I need cigars, clothes, and--a wedding ring. But no, let me stop short there. We will be married without one, unless you force it upon us. Eva's color is blue.
Very truly, Thomas.
ENTRY XVII.
To-day I wrote again to Felix. He is at home, must be, for I have neither seen nor felt his presence since that fateful night. What did I write? I don't remember. I seem to be living in a dream. Everything is confused about me but Eva's face, Eva's smile. They are blissfully clear. Sometimes I wish they were not. Were they confused amid these shadows, I might have stronger hope of keeping my word to Felix. Now, I shall never keep it. Eva once my wife, separation between us will become impossible. John Poindexter is ill.
