_Castle Dismal_, Novr. 18th, 1848
_Ownest Phoebe_,
Thy letter did not come till to-day; and I know not that I was ever
more disappointed and impatient--for I was sure that it ought to have
come yesterday, and went to the Post Office three times after it. Now
I have nothing to tell thee, belovedest wife, but write thee just a
word, because I must. Thou growest more and more absolutely essential
to me, every day we live. I never knew how thou art intertwined with
my being, till this absence.
Darlingest, thou hast mentioned Horace's sickness two or three times,
and I have speculated somewhat thereupon. Thou hast removed to
West-street, likewise, and reservest the reasons till we meet. I
wonder whether there be any connection between these two matters. But
I do not feel anxious. If I am not of a hopeful nature, at least my
imagination is not suggestive of evil. If Una were to have the
hooping-cough, I should be glad thou wast within Dr. Wesselhoeft's
sphere.
What a shadowy day is this! While this weather lasts, thou canst not
come.