I have every right to say that, and you must not mind. I heard only
last night of the terrible thing that has happened to Evelyn, and
unless I am stopped by a telegram from you or Lady Dover I shall
come up to Glen Callan at once to see if I can be of any use. You
will want somebody, anyhow, to look after you both when you move. I
write to Lady Dover by the same post; she will receive my letter at
the time you receive this. She will not mind my proposing
myself--in fact she has asked me to before now.
I have just come here from the New Forest: you will not have heard
what has happened. Tom Merivale is dead, the Hermit, you know. I
will tell you about it all when we meet; now I can only say that
the sorrows of the world were, I believe, suddenly revealed to him,
and he died of it. And some of the sorrows of the world, you poor
dear, have been revealed to Evelyn and you, and perhaps to me. Only
we have got to live and not die.
And before we meet I want very sincerely and humbly to ask your
pardon for all the hard things I have thought and said and done.
Please try to grant it me before you see me, so that I know that it
is implied in your handshake.
So unless you stop me you will see me on the evening of the day on
which you get this, and before then I want you to grant me a
further favour. You must accept, please, tacitly and without any
word on the subject, just the little material assistance that I can
give you and him. In other words, do not let any material anxiety
increase or aggravate what you two _have_ to endure, and which no
one can help you about. Only where you can be helped, accept such
help, and let the privilege of helping you be mine. In doing this
you will be helping me more than I can say: you will be helping me
to learn the lesson of the sorrows of the world, which, as I now
know, we must all learn. And I am,--Your loving friend,