Tuesday.
[Post-mark, June 2, 1846.]
You are the most entirely lovable creature I ever dreamed perhaps might be in a better world—altogether made up of affectionateness and generosity. I do not much fear, now, I shall ever offend you—in the miserable way of giving you direct offence which mortal will and endeavour could avert (although I speak—by design, on profession—doubtfully about the happiness of the future in some respects, yet I dare be quite bold here, and feel sure, as of my life at this moment, that I shall never do that, ...)—but at present I almost love even the apprehension that I may be found out too useless, too unworthy in the end; let it be said so, since I feel it so, my own Ba! I love this, because your dear love seems fit to cover any imperfection of mine: I dare say you do not see them, as you say—but you will perhaps, and then I trust to the love wholly. I want forms, ways, of expressing my devotion to you—but such as I am, all is yours.
I will write more to-morrow—the stupid head will not be quiet to-day—my mother’s is sadly affected too—it is partly my fault for reading ... a state to be proud of! Don’t let my frankness do me wrong, however,—the inconvenience is very little, but I was desired to tell you, was I not? I shall go out presently and get well.
Are you out to-day, beloved? It is very warm; be careful like the dearest Ba you are! And kiss me as I kiss you ... all except the adoration which is mine indefeasibly.
May God bless you ever for your very own.
E.B.B. to R.B.
Tuesday Night.
[Post-mark, June 3, 1846.]
My own dearest who are never to offend me!—And, true, that is—because I have tried, before now, to be offended, and could not, ... being under a charm. So it is not my fault but yours, that never you see me angry.
But your head, my head ... is it better, dearest, by this time, or is it ringing and aching even, under the crashing throat-peals of Mr. Landor’s laughter? he laughs, I remember like an ogre—he laughs as if laughter could kill, and he knew it, thinking of an enemy. May it do his friends no harm to-night! How I think of you, and, in every thought, love you! Yes, surely I can love you as if I were worthier! and better perhaps than if I were better, ... though that may sound like a riddle. And dear dearest, why do you talk of your faults so? It is not at all gracious of you indeed. You are on a high hill above me where I cannot reach your hand—(in the myths, be it understood) and you sigh and say querulously ... ‘By and bye I may have to take a step down lower.’ Now is that gracious of you, or worthy of your usual chivalry? You ought to be glad, on the contrary, to be so much nearer me—! in the myths, be it understood! For out of the myths we are near enough, as near as two hearts can be, ... I believe ... I trust!
You will not mistake what I said to you this morning my own beloved—you will not? My promise to you was to place the decision in your hands—and my desire is simply that you should decide according to your judgment and understanding ... I do not say, your affections, this time. Now it has struck me that you have a sort of instinct....