As I read , I found myself liking Uncle Alan , wishing that he might have lived and been my friend . His mother had not been well that summer and the doctor ordered her to the seashore . Alan accompanied her . Here occurred a hiatus in the journal . No leaves had been torn out , but a quire or so of them had apparently become loosened from the threads that held them in place . I found them later on in the trunk , but at the time I passed to the next page . It began abruptly : This girl is the sweetest thing that God ever made . I had not known a woman could be so fair and sweet . Her beauty awes me , the purity of her soul shines so clearly through it like an illuminating lamp . I love her with all my power of loving and I am thankful that it is so . It would have been hard to die without having known love . I am glad that it has come to me , even if its price is unspeakable bitterness . A man has not lived for nothing who has known and loved Sylvia Stanleymain . I must not seek her love -- that is denied me . If I were well and strong I should win it ; yes , I believe I could win it , and nothing in the world would prevent me from trying , but , as things are , it would be the part of a coward to try . Yet I can not resist the delight of being with her , of talking to her , of watching her wonderful face . She is in my thoughts day and night , she dwells in my dreams . O , Sylvia , I love you , my sweet ! A week later there was another entry : July Seventeenth . I am afraid .
To-day I met XXXXX 's eyes .
Alan Stanleymain Sylvia bitterness coward day hiatus night quire summer