It is of Sylvia I must think now . I shall go away at once , before the sweet fancy which is possibly budding in her virgin heart shall have bloomed into a flower that might poison some of her fair years . July Nineteenth . It is over . I said good-bye to her to-day before others , for I dared not trust myself to see her alone . She looked hurt and startled , as if someone had struck her . But she will soon forget , even if I have not been mistaken in the reading of her eyes . As for me , the bitterness of death is already over in that parting . All that now remains is to play the man to the end . From further entries in the journal I learned that Alan Blair had returned to Sweetwater and later on had been ordered to California . The entries during his sojourn there were few and far between . In all of them he spoke of Sylvia . Finally , after a long silence , he had written : I think the end is not far off now . I am not sorry for my suffering has been great of late . Last night I was easier . I slept and dreamed that I saw Sylvia . Once or twice I thought that I would arrange to have this book sent to her after my death . But I have decided that it would be unwise . It would only pain her , so I shall destroy it when I feel the time has come . It is sunset in this wonderful summer land .
At home in XXXXX it is only early spring as yet , with snow lingering along the edges of the woods .
Blair California Sweetwater Sylvia eyes flower journal sojourn time years