[Postmark: June 2, 1846]
Tuesday.
You are the most entirely lovable creature I ever
dreamed perhaps might be in a better world — altogether
made up of affectionateness and generosity. I do not much
fear, now, I shall ever offend you — in the miserable way of
giving you direct offence which mortal will and endeavour
could avert (although I speak— by design, on profession —
doubtfully about the happiness of the future in some respects,
yet I dare be quite bold here, and feel sure, as of my life at
this moment, that I shall never do that, . .) — but at present
I almost love even the apprehension that I may be found
out too useless, too unworthy in the end ; let it be said so,
since I feel it so, my own Ba ! I love this, because your
dear love seems fit to cover any imperfection of mine : I
dare say you do not see them, as you say — but you will
perhaps, and then I trust to the love wholly. I want forms,
ways, of expressing my devotion to you — but such as I am,
all is yours.
I will write more to-morrow — the stupid head will not be
quiet to-day — my mother’s is sadly affected too — it is partly
my fault for reading … a state to be proud of ! Don’t
let my frankness do me wrong, however, — the inconvenience
is very little, but I was desired to tell you, was I not ? I
shall go out presently and get well.
Are you out to-day, beloved ? It is very warm ; be careful
like the dearest Ba you are ! And kiss me as I kiss you . .
all except the adoration which is mine indefeasibly.
May God bless you ever for your very own.