[Postmark: June 27, 1846]
Saturday.
Your dear gentle laugh, as I seem to hear it, makes all
well again for the moment undoubtedly. I cannot help
trusting you implicitly . . so whenever I seem able to reason
a little, and set you reasoning for me, ought I not to try, – and
then give up, and sink my head over you . . dearest ! In
fact, I was a little frightened by what I heard and saw . .
for you, if you please, began by saying ‘ it was too cold to
go out ‘ – and you were paler, I thought. The news of High-
gate and the green leaves are re-assuring indeed – but my
brown leaves might be sent to you by myriads for all that,
for all the light laugh, – all roses fast going, lilies going . .
autumnal hollyhocks in full blow . . and now to count
three months over before summer is to end ! These rains
may do something, or hinder somewhat – and certainly our
fire was left alone early yesterday morning. Well, I have
not been presumptuous except … ah, the exception !
How could I presume, for one thing, to hope for last
evening’s letter . . a pure piece of kindness in you, Ba !
And all your kindness is pure, entire, pearl-like for round-
ness and completeness . . there is no one rough side as
when a crystal is broken off and given : do you think it no
good augury of our after life in what must be called, I sup-
pose, another relation, – that this has been so perfect . . to
me . . this last year, let me only say ? In this relation there
are as many ‘ écueils ‘ as in the other, – as many, though of a
different nature, lovers quarrel on as various grounds as the
wedded – and though with the hue and softness of love the
most energetic words and deeds may change their character;
yet one might write savage sentences in Chinese celestial-
blue ink, which after a powdering with gold-dust should
look prettier than the truest blessing in ordinary black.
But you have been PERFECT to me hitherto – perfect ! And
of course only to you is the praise . . for I have to be en-
tirely confided in by you, seeing that you cannot keep an
eye on me after I leave your room . . whereas, – not I, but a
gross, stupid fool who conceived of no liberty but that of the
body, nor that the soul may be far more unfaithful – such
an one might exult in the notion of the closed door and the
excluded world of rivals.
Bless you, darling – Monday is not very far off now !
And I am to hear again. I am much better, – my mother
much better too. I saw my French friend and talked and
heard him talk. Yesterday, the whole day, (after the fire
went out) was given to a cousin of mine, a girl, just married,
and here from Paris with her husband – these two had to be
amused somehow. Ever your very own – R.