The zest of love is uncertainty. When love has to breast the
Hellespont it feels its most impassioned thrill. Let there be distance,
and danger, and separation and tears in love. Let there be dull
certainty, and custom stales its dearest delights.
Love is worthiest when it asks no requital. Minnie knew that all was
over. She received short notes from Donald from time to time, and the
newspapers kept her informed of the progress of events. She clearly
perceived that if Donald did not give himself up, one of the two things
must happen--he would either be killed himself by the police, or he
would kill one or more of his pursuers, with the certainty of being
ultimately caught, and probably hung. In her letters she implored him to
give himself up, and not further incense the Government, which was not
disposed to be implacable. Finding all her entreaties unavailing, she
determined to visit him. This was a bold resolution. It was carried out
without hesitation. A more sophisticated nature would have asked--"Will
this seem modest?" Modesty itself never asks such a question.
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