_R.B. to E.B.B._
[Post-mark, February 7, 1846.]
The clock strikes--_three_; and I am here, not with you--and my
'fractious' headache at the very worst got suddenly better just now,
and is leaving me every minute--as if to make me aware, with an
undivided attention, that at this present you are waiting for me, and
soon will be wondering--and it would be so easy now to dress myself
and walk or run or ride--do anything that led to you ... but by no
haste in the world could I reach you, I am forced to see, before a
quarter to five--by which time I think my letter must arrive. Dear,
dearest Ba, did you but know how vexed I am--with myself, with--this
is absurd, of course. The cause of it all was my going out last
night--yet that, neither, was to be helped, the party having been
twice put off before--once solely on my account. And the sun shines,
and you would shine--
Monday is to make all the amends in its power, is it not? Still, still
I have lost my day.
Bless you, my ever-dearest.
Your R.
_R.B. to E.B.B._
Sunday Morning.
[Post-mark, February 9, 1846.]
My dearest--there are no words,--nor will be to-morrow, nor even in
the Island--I know that! But I do love you.