[Postmark: September 9, 1846]
Tuesday Evening.
I write a word to say, . . dearest, do not run any risk about coming to-morrow. I mean, . . unless you are sure that the noise and exertion will not be too much for you, – unless, when the moment comes for setting off, you feel equal to it . . now, I do beseech you, very dear, not to persist in coming because you have said that you will come – I beseech you. Listen. At three o’clock I shall expect you doubtfully ; at half-past three, the doubt will be the strongest ; and at a quarter to four, I shall have said to myself cheerfully, that you were wise and good and had determined to stay at home. In that case, I shall have a line from you by five or six ! Understand all this, and let it have the right influence and no more. Of course if I could see you without harm to yourself, and so to me, it would be a great happiness : it even makes me happy to think of, as a bare possibility, at this distance off ! I am happy by your letter, twice over, indeed – once, for that reason, . . and again, for the thought of your being in some respects better. At the same time I do not see why your wise man did not follow his plan to the end. It looks as if he did not think you better essentially because of it. Ah well, I shall see with my eyes to-morrow – perhaps I shall : and I shall see in a dream to-night more certainly.
This shall go at once, though, that it may reach you in time in the morning. How I thank you for the precious note ! You are so much too good to me, that your being also too dear is an excusable consequence – or would be, if it were possible. I write nonsense, I believe, – but it is half for gladness . . and half . . for what makes me your own
BA.