Tuesday.
December 2, 1845.
I was happy, so happy before! But I am happier and richer now. My love – – no words could serve here, but there is life before us, and to the end of it the vibration now struck will extend – – I will live and die with your beautiful ring, your beloved hair – – comforting me, blessing me.
Let me write to-morrow – – when I think on all you have been and are to me, on the wonder of it and the deliciousness, it makes the paper words that come seem vainer than ever – – To-morrow I will write.
May God bless you, my own, my precious – –
I am all your own
R.B.
I have thought again, and believe it will be best to select the finger you intended . . . as the alteration will be simpler, I find; and one is less liable to observation and comment.
Was not that Mr. Kenyon last evening? And did he ask, or hear, or say anything?