[Postmark: May 29, 1846]
Thursday.
Dearest dearest, I thought I had lost my letter to-night,
for not a sound came like a postman’s knock . . I thought
I had lost my letter, talking of losing jewels. I waited and
waited, and at last broke silence to Arabel with, ‘ when will
the post come ? ‘ ‘ Not to-night,’ said she — ‘ it is nearly ten.’
On which I exclaimed so pitifully and with such a desperate
sense of loss, ‘ You mean to say that I shall have no letter
to-night,’ ? . . that after she had laughed a very little, she
went down-stairs to search the letterbox and brought me
what I wanted.
And you think it possible that I should give up my letters
and their golden fountain ? — I ! . . while I live and have
understanding ! I can’t fancy what manner of eagles you
believe in. If in real live eagles, . . why it is as probable
as any other thing of the sort, that I or you should be
snatched away by an eagle . . . the eagle who used to live,
for instance, at the Coliseum of Regent’s Park. And when
I ride away upon an eagle, I may take a wrong counsel perhaps
that hour from other birds of the air : . . . but till
then, I am yours to have and to hold, . . unless, as you say,
you open your hand wide and cry with a distinct voice, ‘ Go.’
It shall be your doing and not mine, if we two are to part —
or God’s own doing, through illness and death. And the
way to avert danger is to avoid observation and discussion,
as much as we can — and we have not been frightened much
yet, . . now have we ? As for Wednesday, there is time to
think. But how can you leave your sister ? you cannot.
So unless you derange your ‘ myth ‘ altogether, and find a
trysting place for us, . . . each mounted on an eagle, . .
in Nephelococcygia, we had better be satisfied, it seems to
me, with Monday and Saturday.
I was out to-day as you saw by my letter, which with my
own hand I dropped into the post. I liked to do it beyond
what you discern. And how the sun shone, — and the little
breath of wind could do nobody harm, I felt. Also there
was the ‘ Autography ‘ in the shop-window to see, before I sate
down in the shop. So you were thought of by necessity,
besides the freewill.
Do you not see that I am bound to you hand and foot ?
Why do you not see what God sees ?
But it is late, and the rest must be for to-morrow. The
sender of the rose-tree sent to-day a great heliotrope — so,
presently, you will have to seek me in a wood.
Everywhere your own
Ba.