‘I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved [p40] none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in
‘F. W.’
Of course, this means nothing. Somebody has been reading the book, and [p41] marked it idly as he (or she) read. I can imagine someone’s underlining a splendid sentiment like ‘Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman!’ but why should a reader lay stress on such a simple sentence as ‘You alone brought me to Bath’?
He
Gloucester, June 10,
The Golden Slipper.
Nothing accomplished yet. Her aunt is a Van Tyck, and a stiff one, too. I am a Copley, and that delays matters. Much depends upon the manner of approach. A false move would be fatal. We have seven more towns (as per itinerary), and if their thirst for cathedrals isn’t slaked when these are finished, we have the entire Continent to do. If I could only succeed in making an impression on the retina of Aunt Celia’s eye! Though I have been under her feet for ten days, she never yet [p42] has observed me. This absent-mindedness of hers serves me ill now, but it may prove a blessing later on.
I made two modest moves on the chessboard of Fate yesterday, but they were so very modest and mysterious that I almost fear they were never noticed.
She
Gloucester, June 10,
In Impossible Lodgings chosen by Me.
Something else awfully exciting has happened.