The next day she handed me a shorter letter, saying that she had cut and pruned it till there was nothing left worth sending, but I assured her that George would think otherwise.
When I read the letter, my eyes were opened to the fact that there was more fire in Frances's heart than I had supposed any woman capable of holding in subjection. But that is a mistake often made by men.
This was my cousin's "cut and pruned" letter:—
"DEAR ONE:
"Baron Ned says my letter must be short, so I smother what remnant of modesty I have, covering nothing with the veil of circumlocution, but telling you plainly what I know you want to hear. I love only you and am true to you in every thought, word, and deed. I long for you, yearn for you, pray for you, and be your fortune good or ill, I would share it and give you a part of the bliss of life which you would give to me.
"So I pray you, do not desert me in case your present hope of good fortune fails you, but let me know at any time, and I will go to you, and will go with you wherever you will take me.
"You will say, I fear, that none but a crazy woman would write such a letter as this, but if that be true, the world doubtless is and always has been populated by maniacs, and I pray God always will be. I pray you, remember, in judging me, that you are you and that I am but a woman by whom the good or evil of life is reckoned in the measure of her love; her joy or misery being only a matter of down weight or light weight more in the love she gives than in that which she receives. Remember, also, that in this letter I must condense when I might easily be prolix, and that after all is written, probably I shall have left unsaid the very thing I most wished to say. But these three words will tell it all and bear repeating: I love you.
"FRANCES."
And this from my sensible cousin! What would it be if her heart were not balanced by a wise head?
Our letters being written, I became alarmed about posting them in London, not knowing when a messenger would start for France, nor who he would be. The next day Frances and I talked it over, and she suggested that as the king and most of the court were about to visit Bath for a season, and as neither she nor I cared to go, we should take the letters to Dover, cross to Calais, and post them in France.