When I am away from you—­a crowd of things press on me for utterance—­’I will say them, not write them,’ I think:—­when I see you—­all to be said seems insignificant, irrelevant,—­’they can be written, at all events’—­I think that too.  So, feeling so much, I say so little!

I have just returned from Town and write for the Post—­but you mean to write, I trust.

That was not obtained, that promise, to be happy with, as last time!

How are you?—­tell me, dearest; a long week is to be waited now!

Bless you, my own, sweetest Ba.

I am wholly your

R.

R.B. to E.B.B.

Thursday.
[Post-mark, January 15, 1846.]

Dearest, dearer to my heart minute by minute, I had no wish to give you pain, God knows.  No one can more readily consent to let a few years more or less of life go out of account,—­be lost—­but as I sate by you, you so full of the truest life, for this world as for the next,—­and was struck by the possibility, all that might happen were I away, in the case of your continuing to acquiesce—­dearest, it is horrible—­could not but speak.  If in drawing you, all of you, closer to my heart, I hurt you whom I would—­outlive ... yes,—­cannot speak here—­forgive me, Ba.

My Ba, you are to consider now for me.  Your health, your strength, it is all wonderful; that is not my dream, you know—­but what all see.  Now, steadily care for us both—­take time, take counsel if you choose; but at the end tell me what you will do for your part—­thinking of me as utterly devoted, soul and body, to you, living wholly in your life, seeing good and ill only as you see,—­being yours as your hand is,—­or as your Flush, rather.  Then I will, on my side, prepare.  When I say ’take counsel’—­I reserve my last right, the man’s right of first speech. I stipulate, too, and require to say my own speech in my own words or by letter—­remember!  But this living without you is too tormenting now.  So begin thinking,—­as for Spring, as for a New Year, as for a new life.

I went no farther than the door with Mr. Kenyon.  He must see the truth; and—­you heard the playful words which had a meaning all the same.

No more of this; only, think of it for me, love!

One of these days I shall write a long letter—­on the omitted matters, unanswered questions, in your past letters.  The present joy still makes me ungrateful to the previous one; but I remember.  We are to live together one day, love!

Will you let Mr. Poe’s book lie on the table on Monday, if you please, that I may read what he does say, with my own eyes? That I meant to ask, too!

How too, too kind you are—­how you care for so little that affects me!  I am very much better—­I went out yesterday, as you found:  to-day I shall walk, beside seeing Chorley.  And certainly, certainly I would go away for a week, if so I might escape being ill (and away from you) a fortnight; but I am not ill—­and will care, as you bid me, beloved!  So, you will send, and take all trouble; and all about that crazy Review!  Now, you should not!—­I will consider about your goodness.  I hardly know if I care to read that kind of book just now.