My own, you must be very good and quiet until you are quite strong again, and do not be in a hurry to get up.
I have only just a minute to close this as my Mercury is waiting. YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.
My baby was born on February 16th, 1882. I was very ill, but the joy of possessing Parnell's child carried me through my trouble. She was a beautiful baby, apparently strong and healthy—for the first few weeks—and with the brown eyes of her father. This child of tragedy rarely cried, but lay watching me with eyes thoughtful and searching beyond the possibility of her little life. I used to seek in hers for the fires always smouldering in the depths of her father's eyes, but could not get beyond that curious gravity and understanding in them, lightened only by the little smile she gave when I came near.
* * * * * *
March 5, 1882.
MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,—It is so long since I have heard from you that I sometimes wonder whether you have quite forgotten me.
In case you see any of my friends who may inquire after me, will you kindly tell them that I am very well, and that there is no truth in the stupid rumour which appeared in some of the London papers about the seven days' solitary confinement—I was merely prevented from receiving or sending letters for a week; the latter portion of the sentence did not trouble me much, as I am an even worse correspondent in here than when I was outside.
I think you will scarcely know me when you see me again, I have become so fat.
I have not heard from your sister for a great many months; in fact have only had one letter from her since I have been here.