Letter to Madame Bodichon, 6th Feb. 1879.
Bless you for your loving thought. But for all reasons, bodily and mental, I am unable to move. I am entirely occupied with his manuscripts, and must be on this spot among all the books. Then, I am in a very ailing condition of body—cannot count on myself from day to day—and am not fit to undertake any sort of journey. I have never yet been outside the gate. Even if I were otherwise able, I could not bear to go out of sight of the things he used and looked on.
Bless you once more. If I could go away with anybody I could go away with you.
Letter to J. W. Cross, 7th Feb. 1879.
I do need your affection. Every sign of care for me from the beings I respect and love is a help to me. In a week or two I think I shall want to see you. Sometimes, even now, I have a longing, but it is immediately counteracted by a fear. The perpetual mourner—the grief that can never be healed—is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning—a new acquaintance with grief.
Letter to J. W. Cross, Saturday, 22d Feb. 1879.
If you happen to be at liberty to-morrow, or the following Friday, or to-morrow week, I hope I shall be well enough to see you. Let me know which day.
On Sunday, the 23d February, I saw her for the first time, and there is the following letter next day.
Letter to J. W. Cross, 24th Feb. 1879.