[Postmark: May 20, 1846]
Wednesday.
My Ba, I can just kneel down to you and be kissed, — I
cannot do more, nor speak, nor thank you — and I seem to
have no more chance of getting new love to give you, — all is
given, — so I have said before, and must keep saying now —
all of me is your very own.
My sister (whose engagement, and not mine, this was)
decides to act according to the letter of Mr. Kenyon’s kind
instructions, and keeps at home on account of the rain.
She is very subject to colds and sore-throat which the
least dampness underfoot is sure to produce in her. So I
am not near you ! You would not go, however, — I think,
would not go, — to the Park gate as you conditionally promised
— I do not, therefore, miss my flower-show, my ‘ rose
tree that bareth seven times seven.’ But the other chance
which your last letter apprises me of, — the visit of Mr.
Kenyon, — which, by going in time to him, I might perhaps
make my own too — that, on a second thought, I determine
to forego . . because it jeopardizes my Saturday, which will
be worth so many, many such visits, — does it not ? There
is no precedent in our golden year for three visits taking
place in a single week — not even in that end of October
when all the doubt was about the voyage — how I
remember !
I shall be more with you than if in the presence of
people before whom I may not say ‘ Miss Barrett ‘ with
impunity while professing to talk of Miss — I forget who !
But ‘ more with you ‘ I who am always with you !
Always with you in the spirit, always yearning to be with
you in the body, — always, when with you, praying, as for
the happiest of fortunes, that I may remain with you for
ever. So may it be, prays your
own, own R.