[Postmark: September 14, 1846]
Monday Morning.
You go on to comfort me, love – bless you for it. I collect from the letter that you are recovering from the pain and excitement ; that is happy ! I waited to hear from you, my own Ba, and will only write a word – then go out – think.
Do you feel so, through the anxieties and trouble of this situation ? You take my words from me – I ‘ exult ‘ in the irrevocability of this precious bestowal of yourself on me – come what will my life has borne flower and fruit – it is a glorious, successful, felicitous life, I thank God and you.
All has been for the best, you will see, even in these apparently untoward circumstances – this particular act was precipitated by them, certainly – but it is done, and well done. Does it not simplify our arrangements that this is done ? And surely there was every justification for the precipitancy in that proposed journey, and uncertain return, – (in Winter to a freshly-painted house !) But every moment of my life brings fresh proof to me of the intervention of Providence. How the natural course would have embarrassed us ! – any consultation with you respecting your own feelings on a removal at present – any desire to gratify them . .
Will not Mr. Kenyon understand at least ? Would it not be well to ascertain his precise address in the country, – so as to send your letter there, before the newspaper reaches him, – or any other person’s version ? I will send you my letter to accompany yours – just a few words to explain why he was not consulted – (by me) . . what is strictly my own part to be excused. What do you intend to do about Mrs. Jameson? I only want to know in the case of our mutual friends, of course, so as to avoid the necessity of going over the same ground in our letters.
I confided my approaching marriage to that kind old Pritchard, lest he should be too much wounded – if his surprise was considerable, his delight kept due proportion. You may depend on his secrecy – I need not say, I mentioned the fact simply . . without a word about any circumstances. If your father could be brought to allow the matter to pass as indifferent to him . . what he did not chose to interfere with, however little he approved it, – we should be fortunate ? Perhaps pride, if no kinder feeling, may induce him to that.
My family all love you, dearest – you cannot conceive my father and mother’s childlike faith in goodness – and my sister is very high-spirited, and quick of apprehension – so as to seize the true point of the case at once. I am in great hopes you will love them all, and understand them. Last night, I asked my father, who was absorbed over some old book, ‘ if he should not be glad to see his new daughter ? ‘ – to which he, starting, replied ‘ Indeed I shall ! ‘ with such a fervour as to make my mother laugh – not abated by his adding, ‘And how I should be glad of her seeing Sis ! ‘ his other daughter, Sarianna, to wit – who was at church.
Trifles, trifles, only commended to your dear, affectionate heart. Do you confide in me, Ba ? Well, you shall ! – in my love, in my pride, in my heart’s purposes ; but not in anything else. Give me your counsel at all times, beloved : I am wholly open to your desires, and teaching, and direction. Try what you can make of me, – if you can in any way justify your choice to the world. So I would gladly counsel you on any point ! See how I read lectures about Flush ! Only give a kiss before beginning, and promise me another upon my profiting, – and I shall be twice blessed beside the profit. So, my counsel being done, here begin the kisses, you dear dear Ba of mine. Bless you ever, Ba ! I continue quite well – is it not strange . . or is it ? And my mother is better decidedly. When she comes back from town (where she and my sister are caring for me) I will tell her what you bade me promise to give her – in return for what she has long given you. Good-bye, my own – very own Ba, from your R.