very existence of God, I may say—­if they were not common-place, and could they be thoroughly apprehended (except in the chance minutes which make one grow old, not the mere years)—­the business of the world would cease; but when you find Chaucer’s graver at his work of ‘graving smale seles’ by the sun’s light, you know that the sun’s self could not have been created on that day—­do you ‘understand’ that, Ba?  And when I am with you, or here or writing or walking—­and perfectly happy in the sunshine of you, I very well know I am no wiser than is good for me and that there seems no harm in feeling it impossible this should change, or fail to go on increasing till this world ends and we are safe, I with you, for ever.  But when—­if only once, as I told you, recording it for its very strangeness, I do feel—­in a flash—­that words are words, and could not alter that decree ... will you tell me how, after all, that conviction and the true woe of it are better met than by the as thorough conviction that, for one blessing, the extreme woe is impossible now—­that you are, and have been, mine, and me—­one with me, never to be parted—­so that the complete separation not being to be thought of, such an incomplete one as is yet in Fate’s power may be the less likely to attract her notice?  And, dearest, in all emergencies, see, I go to you for help; for your gift of better comfort than is found in myself.  Or ought I, if I could, to add one more proof to the Greek proverb ’that the half is greater than the whole’—­and only love you for myself (it is absurd; but if I could disentwine you from my soul in that sense), only see my own will, and good (not in your will and good, as I now see them and shall ever see) ... should you say I did love you then?  Perhaps.  And it would have been better for me, I know—­I should not have written this or the like—­there being no post in the Siren’s isle, as you will see.

And the end of the whole matter is—­what?  Not by any means what my Ba expects or ought to expect; that I say with a flounce ’Catch me blotting down on paper, again, the first vague impressions in the weakest words and being sure I have only to bid her “understand"!—­when I can get “Blair on Rhetoric,” and the additional chapter on the proper conduct of a letter’!  On the contrary I tell you, Ba, my own heart’s dearest, I will provoke you tenfold worse; will tell you all that comes uppermost, and what frightens me or reassures me, in moments lucid or opaque—­and when all the pen-stumps and holders refuse to open the lock, out will come the key perforce; and once put that knowledge—­of the entire love and worship of my heart and soul—­to its proper use, and all will be clear—­tell me to-morrow that it will be clear when I call you to account and exact strict payment for every word and phrase and full-stop and partial stop, and no stop at all, in this wicked little note which got so treacherously