[Postmark: July 4, 1846]
Friday Night,
Ah ! ‘to-morrow, make haste and arrive.’ And what
good will to-morrow do when it comes ?
Dearest, with your letter to-night, I have a note from
Mrs. Jameson, who proposes that I should go to her just
on this to-morrow, between twelve and one : she will wait
for me till one and then go out. Moreover she leaves
town on Tuesday. Now I think I ought to try to be with
her this time, therefore, on the hour she mentions, and I
will try . . I mean to try. But as for seeing you even so,
and for a moment, . . I understand that it scarcely is
possible — no, not possible — you cannot have time, I think.
Thinking which, understanding which, I shall yet, in spite
of reason, listen for the footstep and the voice: certainly I
shall not help doing that.
Our to-morrow ! — How they have spoilt it for us ! In
revenge, I shall love you to-morrow twice as much, looking
at my dead flowers. Twice as much ! ! ‘ Ba never talk
extravagances.’ Twice as much is a giant fifty feet high. It
is foolish to be fabulous.
Being better this evening (almost as if I were sure to
see you in the morning) I went out to drive with Arabel
and Flush, about six o’clock, — and we were not at home
until eight, after having seen a mirage (as it appeared) of
green fields and trees. Beyond Harrow cemetery we went,
through silent lanes and hedgerows — so silent, so full of
repose ! Quite far away over the tops of the trees, was
‘London’ Arabel said . . but I could see only a cloud: —
it seemed no more, nor otherwise. Once she got out and
went into a field to give Flush a run — and I, left to myself
and you, read your last letter in the carriage, under the
branches which were dropping separate shadows of every
leaf they had. The setting sun forced them to it. Oh —
but I send you no leaves, because I could not reach any,
and did not get out to walk to-day where I might have
gathered them. Arabel tried hard to persuade me to go
into the cemetery — but let me deserve all she said to me
about weakness and foolishness, . . really that sort of thing
does sadden me — my spirits fall flat with it: it is the dark
side of death. So I begged her to go by herself and to
leave me . . I would wait for her — and she should have as
long a pleasure in that pleasure-ground of the Dead, as she
liked. ‘Very pretty,’ it is said to be — the dissenters and
the churchpeople planted in separate beds; and the
Roman Catholics conspicuous for their roses ! Oh that
ghastly mixture of horror and frivolity ! The niaiserie of
their divisions and subdivisions taken down so carefully
into the dust ! But Arabel did not go at last, and we
were at home quite late enough.
May God bless you, dear, dear ! Give me all my
thoughts (those that belong to me) to-morrow. Poor dis-
inherited to-morrow.
I will write to-morrow, at any rate — and hear — let me
hear.
And you are the best, best ! When I speak lead, you
answer gold. Because I ‘do not shock’ you, you melt my
heart away with joy.
Yet I can love you enough, even I !
Your Ba.