And so, you come on Thursday, and I only hope that Mrs. Jameson will not come too, (the carpet work makes me think of her; and, not having come yet, she may come on Thursday by a fatal cross-st.i.tch!) for I do not hear from her, and my precautions are 'watched out,' May G.o.d bless you always.

Your own--

But no--I did not forgive. Where was the fault to be forgiven, except in _me_, for not being right in my meaning?

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Friday.

[Post-mark, December 12, 1845.]

And now, my heart's love, I am waiting to hear from you; my heart is _full_ of you. When I try to remember what I said yesterday, _that_ thought, of what fills my heart--only _that_ makes me bear with the memory.... I know that even such imperfect, poorest of words _must_ have come _from_ thence if not bearing up to you all that is there--and I know you are ever above me to receive, and help, and forgive, and _wait_ for the one day which I will never say to myself cannot come, when I shall speak what I feel--more of it--or _some_ of it--for now nothing is spoken.

My all-beloved--

Ah, you opposed very rightly, I dare say, the writing that paper I spoke of! The process should be so much simpler! I most earnestly _expect_ of you, my love, that in the event of any such necessity as was then alluded to, you accept at once in my name _any_ conditions possible for a human will to submit to--there is no imaginable condition to which you allow me to accede that I will not joyfully bend all my faculties to comply with. And you know this--but so, also do you know _more_ ... and yet 'I may tire of you'--'may forget you'!

I will write again, having the long, long week to wait! And one of the things I must say, will be, that with my love, I cannot lose my pride in you--that nothing _but_ that love could balance that pride--and that, blessing the love so divinely, you must minister to the pride as well; yes, my own--I shall follow your fame,--and, better than fame, the good you do--in the world--and, if you please, it shall all be mine--as your hand, as your eyes--

I will write and pray it from you into a promise ... and your promises I live upon.

May G.o.d bless you! your R.B.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Friday.

[Post-mark, December 13, 1845.]

Do not blame me in your thoughts for what I said yesterday or wrote a day before, or think perhaps on the dark side of some other days when I cannot help it ... always when I cannot help it--you could not blame me if you saw the full motives as I feel them. If it is distrust, it is not of _you_, dearest of all!--but of myself rather:--it is not doubt _of_ you, but _for_ you. From the beginning I have been subject to the too reasonable fear which rises as my spirits fall, that your happiness might suffer in the end through your having known me:--it is for _you_ I fear, whenever I fear:--and if you were less to me, ... _should_ I fear do you think?--if you were to me only what I am to myself for instance, ... if your happiness were only as precious as my own in my own eyes, ... should I fear, do you think, _then_? Think, and do not blame me.

To tell you to 'forget me when forgetting seemed happiest for you,'

... (was it not _that_, I said?) proved more affection than might go in smoother words.... I could prove the truth of _that_ out of my heart.

And for the rest, you need not fear any fear of mine--my fear will not cross a wish of yours, be sure! Neither does it prevent your being all to me ... all: more than I used to take for all when I looked round the world, ... almost more than I took for all in my earliest dreams.

You stand in between me and not merely the living who stood closest, but between me and the closer graves, ... and I reproach myself for this sometimes, and, so, ask you not to blame me for a different thing.

As to unfavourable influences, ... I can speak of them quietly, having foreseen them from the first, ... and it is true, I have been thinking since yesterday, that I might be prevented from receiving you here, and _should_, if all were known: but with that act, the adverse power would end. It is not my fault if I have to choose between two affections; only my pain; and I have not to choose between two duties, I feel, ... since I am yours, while I am of any worth to you at all.

For the plan of the sealed letter, it would correct no evil,--ah, you do not see, you do not understand. The danger does not come from the side to which a reason may go. Only one person holds the thunder--and I shall be thundered at; I shall not be reasoned with--it is impossible. I could tell you some dreary chronicles made for laughing and crying over; and you know that if I once thought I might be loved enough to be spared above others, I cannot think so now. In the meanwhile we need not for the present be afraid. Let there be ever so many suspectors, there will be no informers. I suspect the suspectors, but the informers are out of the world, I am very sure:--and then, the one person, by a curious anomaly, _never_ draws an inference of this order, until the bare blade of it is thrust palpably into his hand, point outwards. So it has been in other cases than ours--and so it is, at this moment in the house, with others than ourselves.

I have your letter to stop me. If I had my whole life in my hands with your letter, could I thank you for it, I wonder, at all worthily? I cannot believe that I could. Yet in life and in death I shall be grateful to you.--

But for the paper--no. Now, observe, that it would seem like a prepared apology for something wrong. And besides--the apology would be nothing but the offence in another form--unless you said it was all a mistake--(_will_ you, again?)--that it was all a mistake and you were only calling for your boots! Well, if you said _that_, it would be worth writing, but anything less would be something worse than nothing: and would not save me--which you were thinking of, I know--would not save me the least of the stripes. For 'conditions'--now I will tell you what I said once in a jest....

'If a prince of Eldorado should come, with a pedigree of lineal descent from some signory in the moon in one hand, and a ticket of good-behaviour from the nearest Independent chapel, in the other'--?

'Why even _then_,' said my sister Arabel, 'it would not _do_.' And she was right, and we all agreed that she was right. It is an obliquity of the will--and one laughs at it till the turn comes for crying. Poor Henrietta has suffered silently, with that softest of possible natures, which hers is indeed; beginning with implicit obedience, and ending with something as unlike it as possible: but, you see, where money is wanted, and where the dependence is total--see! And when once, in the case of the one dearest to me; when just at the last he was involved in the same grief, and I attempted to make over my advantages to him; (it could be no sacrifice, you know--_I_ did not want the money, and could buy nothing with it so good as his happiness,--) why then, my hands were seized and tied--and then and there, in the midst of the trouble, came the end of all! I tell you all this, just to make you understand a little. Did I not tell you before? But there is no danger at present--and why ruffle this present with disquieting thoughts? Why not leave that future to itself? For me, I sit in the track of the avalanche quite calmly ... so calmly as to surprise myself at intervals--and yet I know the reason of the calmness well.

For Mr. Kenyon--dear Mr. Kenyon--he will speak the softest of words, if any--only he will think privately that you are foolish and that I am ungenerous, but I will not say so any more now, so as to teaze you.

There is another thing, of more consequence than _his_ thoughts, which is often in my mind to ask you of--but there will be time for such questions--let us leave the winter to its own peace. If I should be ill again you will be reasonable and we both must submit to G.o.d's necessity. Not, you know, that I have the least intention of being ill, if I can help it--and in the case of a tolerably mild winter, and with all this strength to use, there are probabilities for me--and then I have sunshine from _you_, which is better than Pisa's.

And what more would you say? Do I not hear and understand! It seems to me that I do both, or why all this wonder and grat.i.tude? If the devotion of the remainder of my life could prove that I hear, ...

would it be proof enough? Proof enough perhaps--but not gift enough.

May G.o.d bless you always.

I have put _some_ of the hair into a little locket which was given to me when I was a child by my favourite uncle, Papa's only brother, who used to tell me that he loved me better than my own father did, and was jealous when I was not glad. It is through him in part, that I am richer than my sisters--through him and his mother--and a great grief it was and trial, when he died a few years ago in Jamaica, proving by his last act that I was unforgotten. And now I remember how he once said to me: 'Do you beware of ever loving!--If you do, you will not do it half: it will be for life and death.'

So I put the hair into his locket, which I wear habitually, and which never had hair before--the natural use of it being for perfume:--and this is the best perfume for all hours, besides the completing of a prophecy.

Your

E.B.B.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Monday Morning.

[Post-mark, December 15, 1845.]

Every word you write goes to my heart and lives there: let us live so, and die so, if G.o.d will. I trust many years hence to begin telling you what I feel now;--that the beam of the light will have _reached_ you!--meantime it _is_ here. Let me kiss your forehead, my sweetest, dearest.

Wednesday I am waiting for--how waiting for!

After all, it seems probable that there was no intentional mischief in that jeweller's management of the ring. The divided gold must have been exposed to fire--heated thoroughly, perhaps,--and what became of the contents then! Well, all is safe now, and I go to work again of course. My next act is just done--that is, _being_ done--but, what I did not foresee, I cannot bring it, copied, by Wednesday, as my sister went this morning on a visit for the week.

On the matters, the others, I will not think, as you bid me,--if I can help, at least. But your kind, gentle, good sisters! and the provoking sorrow of the _right_ meaning at bottom of the wrong doing--wrong to itself and its plain purpose--and meanwhile, the real tragedy and sacrifice of a life!

If you should see Mr. Kenyon, and can find if he will be disengaged on Wednesday evening, I shall be glad to go in that case.

But I have been writing, as I say, and will leave off this, for the better communing with you. Don't imagine I am unwell; I feel quite well, but a little tired, and the thought of you waits in such readiness! So, may G.o.d bless you, beloved!

I am all your own

R.B.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Monday.

[Post-mark, December 16, 1845.]

Mr. Kenyon has not come--he does not come so often, I think. Did he _know_ from _you_ that you were to see me last Thursday? If he did it might be as well, do you not think? to go to him next week. Will it not seem frequent, otherwise? But if you did _not_ tell him of Thursday distinctly (_I_ did not--remember!), he might take the Wednesday's visit to be the subst.i.tute for rather than the successor of Thursday's: and in that case, why not write a word to him yourself to propose dining with him as he suggested? He really wishes to see you--of that, I am sure. But you will know what is best to do, and he may come here to-morrow perhaps, and ask a whole set of questions about you; so my right hand may forget its cunning for any good it does. Only don't send messages by _me_, please!