[Postmark: September 7, 1846]
Sunday Afternoon.
No, dearest, I am not to see you to-morrow for all the happiness of the permission ! It seems absurd, but perhaps the greater absurdity would be a refusal to submit, under circumstances. You shall hear – I got up with the old vertiginousness, or a little worse – and so, as I had in that case determined, went to consult my doctor. He thinks he finds the root of the evil and can remove it, ‘ if I have patience enough ‘ – so I promised . . expecting something worthy that preamble – whereas I am bidden go to bed and keep there for a day or two – from this Sunday till Wednesday morning – taking nothing but a sip of medicine I can’t distinguish from water, thrice a day – and milk at discretion – no other food ! The mild queerness of it is amusing, is it not ? ‘ And for this fine piece of self-denial,’ says he, ‘ you shall be quite well by the week’s end.’ – ‘ But may I go to town on Wednesday ? ‘ – ‘ Yes.’ –
Now, Ba, my own Ba, you know how often I have to sorrowfully disclaim all the praises your dearest kindness would attach to me ; this time, if you will praise me a little for obeying you, I will take the praise – for the truth of truths is, that I said at once to myself ‘ – have I a right to avoid anything which promises to relieve Her from this eternal account of aches and pains ?”‘ So here am I writing, leaning on my elbow, in bed, – as I never wrote before I think – and perhaps my head is a little better, or I fancy so. Mind, I may read, or write, – only in bed I must lie, because there is some temperature to be kept up in the skin, or some other cause as good – ‘ for reasons, for reasons.’
‘The milk,’ answers Ba, is exactly to correct the superabundant gall of bitterness which overflowed lately about Flush. So it is, my own Ba – and for Flush, the victim of a principle, he is just saved from a sickness by cakes I meditated as a joy-offering on his safe return. Will you, among the other kisses, give him one for me? And save yet another for your own R.
How I shall need your letters, dearest !