November 28, 1845.
Take it, dearest; what I am forced to think you mean – – and take no more with it – – for I gave all to give long ago – – I am all yours – – and now, mine; give me mine to be happy with!
You will have received my note of yesterday. – – I am glad you are satisfied with Miss Bayley, whom I, too, thank . . . that is, sympathize with, . . . (not wonder at, though) – – for her intention . . .. Well, may it all be for best – – here or at Pisa, you are my blessing and life.
. . . How all considerate you are, you that are the kind, kind one! The post arrangement I will remember – – to-day, for instance, will this reach you at 8? I shall be with you then, in thought. ‘Forget you!’ – – What does that mean, dearest?
And I might have stayed longer and you let me go. What does that mean, also tell me? Why, I make up my mind to go, always, like a man, and praise myself as I get through it – – as when one plunges into the cold water – – only . . . ah, that too is no more a merit than any other thing I do . . . there is the reward, the last and best! Or is it the ‘lure’?
I would not be ashamed of my soul if it might be shown you, – – it is wholly grateful, conscious of you.
But another time, do not let me wrong myself so! Say, ‘one minute more.’
On Monday? – – I am much better – – and, having got free from an engagement for Saturday, shall stay quietly here and think the post never intending to come – – for you will not let me wait longer?
Shall I dare write down a grievance of my heart, and not offend you? Yes, trusting in the right of my love – – you tell me, sweet, here in the letter, ‘I do not look so well’ – – and sometimes, I ‘look better’ . . . how do you know? When I first saw you – – I saw your eyes – – since then, you, it should appear, see mine – – but I only know yours are there, and have to use that memory as if one carried dried flowers about when fairly inside the garden-enclosure. And while I resolve, and hesitate, and resolve again to complain of this – – (kissing your foot . . . not boldly complaining, nor rudely) – – while I have this on my mind, on my heart, ever since that May morning . . . can it be?
– – No, nothing can be wrong now – – you will never call me ‘kind’ again, in that sense, you promise! Nor think ‘bitterly’ of my kindness, that word!
Shall I see you on Monday?
God bless you my dearest – – I see her now – – and here and now the eyes open, wide enough, and I will kiss them – – how gratefully!
Your own
R.B.