February 12th.
Could you meet me a little sooner, perhaps, and not wait until the
twenty-third? I must leave Graysmill at once. I shall go to the
Cottage to-morrow afternoon, and tell them. I shall tell the others
tonight, and on Monday I shall leave Graysmill forever. If you think
you cannot reach Florence by Wednesday or Thursday, never mind, you
will join me as soon as you can; only send me a telegram. I can go
and stay with Marianna until you come.
I can bear it no longer! The world holds but one thought; the day
and the night are lost in the constant reiteration of every word he
ever said to me, in the resuscitation of every glance, every touch.
And, poring over these in my memory, I try to read between the lines
the words that are not there, to read "I love you."
Oh, I am very weak, yet, believe me, it is all against my will. I
have fought this folly, I despise myself utterly, and yet now I am
swept away by the flood, I can struggle no more. I shall die of
this, or run mad.
I met him out to-day. We had not arranged to meet; but, as I went
out at the blue door, there he stood. We went a little way together;
then I left him; it was unbearable. It was so beautiful once to be
with him, when we could talk freely of all that is best and noblest
in life. I cannot talk to him now, sometimes I cannot even hear what
he says to me. I cannot see the sky, the broad white earth; I see
him only. I cannot hear the life-sounds about me; I only hear his
footfall in the snow. It is all pain, all dreadful pain, dreadful,
unbearable longing.
Why can't I put an end to all this? Why can't I go to him and say, I
love you, tell me the truth? I know it,--the truth,--he does not
love me; and yet, until I hear his lips say it, a false hope that
reason cannot kill will linger on in my heart,--linger on, I know
it, even when I have placed time and space between him and me.
Only one life, and there we stand, two spirits under the sky, two
that believe in Truth and Freedom, parted by insincerity. The vile
weed has crept up around us; we are parted by falsehood, even we.
Goodnight. Perhaps I shall not write again. I shall send you a
telegram before I start, on Monday.
Come to me, dear, as soon as you can.