Oh, darling, never say now that the luck isn’t on our side sometimes.
Something even bigger than luck, perhaps. That we should save that last,
wonderful evening out of the wreck—so perfect, so unspeakably
wonderful—our evening of marvellous love. Just think—that it should be
your last night, and that he should be called out suddenly like that,
and ask you, himself, not to go before he got back. And even then, if it
hadn’t been the girl’s night out, we shouldn’t have been safe. But it
was, by such incredible luck, Petra mine.
Do you know, there was a moment when I was frightened. I thought, for a
horrible minute, that he had suspected something after all, and had only
pretended to go out, and would come slinking back on purpose to catch
us. Did that occur to you? And were _you_ afraid to say anything, lest
_I_ should be frightened? I was. And then, quite suddenly, I felt
certain, absolutely _certain_ that it was all right. We were being
watched over, Petra. We had been given that great hour—a little bit of
eternity, just for you and me. God must be sorry for us. I can’t believe
it was sin—no one could commit a sin and be so happy. Sin doesn’t
exist, the conventional kind of sin, I mean—only lovingness and
unlovingness—people like you and me, and people like him. I wonder what
Mr. Perry would say to that. He is just crossing the road now to
Benediction, as he calls it. He thinks he knows all about what is right
and what is wrong, but lots of people think his candles and incense
wicked, and call him a papist and idolater and things like that. And
yet, out of his little, cold, parish experience, he would set himself up
to make silly laws for you, darling, who are big and free and splendid.
How absurd it all is! He preached such a funny sermon the other day,
about the Law and the Gospel. He said, if we wouldn’t do as the Gospel
said, and keep good for the love of God, then we should be punished by
the Law. And he said that didn’t mean that God was vindictive, only that
the Laws of Nature had their way, and worked out the punishment quite
impartially, just as fire burns you if you touch it, not to punish you,
but because that is the natural law of fire.
I am wandering on, darling, am I not? I only wondered what kind of
natural revenge Mr. Perry thought God would take for what he would call
our sin. It does seem so ridiculous, doesn’t it? As if God or Nature
would trouble about us, with all those millions and millions of worlds
to see to. Besides, our love is the natural thing—it’s the Gorgon who
is unnatural and abnormal. Probably that’s _his_ punishment. He denies
me love, and love is Nature’s revenge on him. But, of course, he
wouldn’t see it that way.
Oh, darling, what a wonderful time these last weeks have been. I enjoyed
every minute. I have been so happy, I didn’t know how to keep from
shouting my happiness out loud in the streets. I wanted to run and tell
the people who passed by, and the birds and the flowers and the stray
cats how happy I was. Even the Gorgon being there couldn’t spoil it
altogether. Do you remember how angry he was about _The Sacred Flame_?
And you were holding my hand, and your hand was telling mine how true
and right it was that the useless husband should be got out of the way
of the living, the splendid wife and her lover and child. Darling, I
think that play is the most wonderful and courageous thing that’s ever
been written. What right have the useless people to get in the way of
love and youth? Of course, in the play, it wasn’t the husband’s fault,
because he was injured and couldn’t help himself—but that’s Nature’s
law again, isn’t it? Get rid of the ugly and sick and weak and worn-out
things, and let youth and love and happiness have their chance. It was a
brave thing to write that, because it’s what we all know in our hearts,
and yet we are afraid to say it.
Petra, darling, my lover, my dearest one, how can we wait and do
nothing, while life slips by? The time of love is so short—what can we
do? Think of a way, Petra. Even—yes, I’m almost coming to that—even if
the way leads through shame and disgrace—I believe I could face it, if
there is no other. I know so certainly that I was made for you and that
you are all my life, as I am yours. Kiss me, kiss me, Petra. I kiss my
own arms and hands and try to think it’s you. Ever, my darling, your own