_St. Albans_, _June_ 8_th_.
Frank, tell me for Heaven’s sake what your letter means! You use words
of love, and yet you talk of parting. You speak as if our love were a
thing which we might change or suppress. O Frank, you cannot take my
love away from me. You don’t know what you are to me, my heart, my life,
my all. I would give my life for you willingly, gladly—every beat of my
heart is for you. You don’t know what you have become to me. My every
thought is yours, and has been ever since that night at the Arlingtons’.
My love is so deep and strong, it rules my whole life, my every action
from morning to night. It is the very breath and heart of my
life—unchangeable. I could not alter my love any more than I could stop
my heart from beating. How could you, could you suggest such a thing! I
know that you really love me just as much as I love you, or I should not
open my heart like this. I should be too proud to give myself away. But
I feel that pride is out of place when any mistake or misunderstanding
may mean lifelong misery to both of us. I would only say good-bye if I
thought your love had changed or grown less. But I know that it has not.
O my darling, if you only knew what terrible agony the very thought of
parting is, you would never have let such an idea even for an instant, on
any pretext, enter your mind. The very possibility is too awful to think
of. When I read your letter just now up in my room, I nearly fainted. I
can’t write. O Frank, don’t take my love away from me. I can’t bear it.
Oh no, it is my everything. If I could only see you now, I know that you
would kiss these heart-burning tears away. I feel so lonely and tired.
I cannot follow all your letter. I only know that you talked of parting,
and that I am weary and miserable.