Occy continues to make progress—­with a pulse at only eighty-four this morning.  Are you learned in the pulse that I should talk as if you were? I, who have had my lessons?  He takes scarcely anything yet but water, and his head is very hot still—­but the progress is quite sure, though it may be a lingering case.

Your beautiful flowers!—­none the less beautiful for waiting for water yesterday.  As fresh as ever, they were; and while I was putting them into the water, I thought that your visit went on all the time.  Other thoughts too I had, which made me look down blindly, quite blindly, on the little blue flowers, ... while I thought what I could not have said an hour before without breaking into tears which would have run faster then.  To say now that I never can forget; that I feel myself bound to you as one human being cannot be more bound to another;—­and that you are more to me at this moment than all the rest of the world; is only to say in new words that it would be a wrong against myself, to seem to risk your happiness and abuse your generosity.  For me ... though you threw out words yesterday about the testimony of a ’third person,’ ... it would be monstrous to assume it to be necessary to vindicate my trust of you—­I trust you implicitly—­and am not too proud to owe all things to you.  But now let us wait and see what this winter does or undoes—­while God does His part for good, as we know.  I will never fail to you from any human influence whatever—­that I have promised—­but you must let it be different from the other sort of promise which it would be a wrong to make.  May God bless you—­you, whose fault it is, to be too generous.  You are not like other men, as I could see from the beginning—­no.

Shall I have the proof to-night, I ask myself.

And if you like to come on Monday rather than Tuesday, I do not see why there should be a ‘no’ to that.  Judge from your own convenience.  Only we must be wise in the general practice, and abstain from too frequent meetings, for fear of difficulties.  I am Cassandra you know, and smell the slaughter in the bath-room.  It would make no difference in fact; but in comfort, much.

Ever your own—­

R.B. to E.B.B.

                              Saturday.
                              [Post-mark, October 18, 1845.]

I must not go on tearing these poor sheets one after the other,—­the proper phrases will not come,—­so let them stay, while you care for my best interests in their best, only way, and say for me what I would say if I could—­dearest,—­say it, as I feel it!

I am thankful to hear of the continued improvement of your brother.  So may it continue with him!  Pulses I know very little about—­I go by your own impressions which are evidently favourable.