for me to fail in it now.  My brothers, it is quite necessary not to draw into a dangerous responsibility.  I have felt that from the beginning, and shall continue to feel it—­though I hear and can observe that they are full of suspicions and conjectures, which are never unkindly expressed.  I told you once that we held hands the faster in this house for the weight over our heads.  But the absolute knowledge would be dangerous for my brothers:  with my sisters it is different, and I could not continue to conceal from them what they had under their eyes; and then, Henrietta is in a like position.  It was not wrong of me to let them know it?—­no?

Yet of what consequence is all this to the other side of the question?  What, if you should give pain and disappointment where you owe such pure gratitude.  But we need not talk of these things now.  Only you have more to consider than I, I imagine, while the future comes on.

Dearest, let me have my way in one thing:  let me see you on Tuesday instead of on Monday—­on Tuesday at the old hour.  Be reasonable and consider.  Tuesday is almost as near as the day before it; and on Monday, I shall be hurried at first, lest Papa should be still in the house, (no harm, but an excuse for nervousness:  and I can’t quote a noble Roman as you can, to the praise of my conscience!) and you will be hurried at last, lest you should not be in time for Mr. Forster.  On the other hand, I will not let you be rude to the Daily News, ... no, nor to the Examiner.  Come on Tuesday, then, instead of Monday, and let us have the usual hours in a peaceable way,—­and if there is no obstacle,—­that is, if Mr. Kenyon or some equivalent authority should not take note of your being here on Tuesday, why you can come again on the Saturday afterwards—­I do not see the difficulty.  Are we agreed?  On Tuesday, at three o’clock.  Consider, besides, that the Monday arrangement would hurry you in every manner, and leave you fagged for the evening—­no, I will not hear of it.  Not on my account, not on yours!

Think of me on Monday instead, and write before.  Are not these two lawful letters?  And do not they deserve an answer?

My life was ended when I knew you, and if I survive myself it is for your sake:—­that resumes all my feelings and intentions in respect to you.  No ‘counsel’ could make the difference of a grain of dust in the balance.  It is so, and not otherwise.  If you changed towards me, it would be better for you I believe—­and I should be only where I was before.  While you do not change, I look to you for my first affections and my first duty—­and nothing but your bidding me, could make me look away.

In the midst of this, Mr. Kenyon came and I felt as if I could not talk to him.  No—­he does not ‘see how it is.’  He may have passing thoughts sometimes, but they do not stay long enough to produce—­even an opinion.  He asked if you had been here long.