[Postmark: June 10, 1846]
Tuesday Evening.
Best, dearest beloved, . . would it not be strange if you
were not so to me ? How do you think I feel, hearing you
say such things . . finding such thoughts in your mind ? If
it is not worthy of you to have a burden set on your shoulders
and to be forced into the shadow of disquietudes not your
own, yet this divine tenderness is worthy of you . . worthy
of your nature ; as I know and recognise ! May God help
me to thank you, for I have not a word.
Practically however, see how your proposal would work.
It could not work at all, unless circumstances were known –
and if they were known, at the very moment of their being
known you would be saved, dearest, all the trouble of coming
up-stairs to me, by my being thrown out of the window to
you . . upon which, you might certainly pick up the pieces
of me and put them into a bag and set off for Nova Zembla.
That would be the event of the working of your proposition.
Yet remember that I will accede to whatever you shall
choose – so think for us both. You know more of the world
and have more practical sense than I – and if you did not,
had not, you may do what you like with your own, as surely
as the Duke of Newcastle might.
For Mrs. Jameson, I never should think of telling her
‘all’ – I should not, could not, would not ! and the gods
tbrefend that you should think of telling Mr. Kenyon any
more. Now, listen. Perfectly I understand your reasons,
your scruples . . what are they to be called ? But I promise
to take the blame of it. I will tell dear Mr. Kenyon here-
after that you would have spoken, but that I would not let
you – won’t that do ? won’t it stop the pricking of the con-
science ? Because, you see, I know Mr. Kenyon, . . and I
know perfectly that either he would be unhappy himself, or
he would make us so. He never could bear the sense of
responsibility. Then, as he told me to-day, and as long ago
I knew, . . he is ‘ irresolute,’ timid in deciding. Then he
shrinks before the daemon of the world – and ‘ what may be
said ‘ is louder to him than thunder. And then again, and
worst of all, he sees afar off casualty within casualty, and a
marriage without lawyers would be an abomination in his
sight. Moreover, to discover ourselves to him, and not
submit to his counsels, would be a real offence . . would it
not ? As it is, it may seem natural and excusable that we
two of ourselves should poetically rush into a foolishness
but if we heard counsel, and rejected it ! ! Do you
see? . . .
He came here to-day, dear Mr. Kenyon, and is to come
with Miss Bayley on Friday, and take me in the carriage to
drive, and to see his house. I must go, but dread it . .
shrink from it – yes, indeed. As for Mr. Lough, how could
I have ‘ bound him with Styx nine times round him ? ‘ It
is easier to bind Mrs. Jameson. Oh no ! You were right,
and I was wrong in my first inclination about Mr. Lough.
And yesterday I was not tired to signify. I shall not be
ill, my beloved, I think I shall not. I am as perfectly well
now in all respects (except that I have not strength for much
exercise and noise and confusion, . .) as it is possible to be.
So do not be anxious about me rather spend your dear
thoughts of me in loving me, . . dear, dearest !
You breakfast with Mrs. Jameson, and I shall remember
not to long too much for the eight o’clock letter at night.
Remember you, not to be hurried as to the writing of it
Oh ! I had a letter from my particular Bennet this
morning, . . and my Georgiana desires me instantly to
say why I presumed not to write to her before. I am
commanded out of all further delays. ‘ Did I receive her
letter,’ she wonders ! ! ! ! Georgiana is imperative.
May God bless you, you who bless me !
I am wholly your own.