Dear Highness: I am sure now, then, that I please you, and that you like
me, perhaps only a little: for you turned out of your way to ride with me
though you were going somewhere so fast. How much I wished it when I saw
you coming, but dared not believe it would come true!
"Come true": it is the word I have always been writing, and everything
_has_:--you most of all! You are more true each time I see you. So true
that now I will write it down at last,--the truth for you who have come
so true.
Dear Highness and Great Heart, I love you dearly, though you don't know
it,--quite ever so much; and am going to love you ever so much more,
only--please like _me_ a little better first! You on your dear side must
do something: or, before I know, I may be wringing my hands all alone on
a desert island to a bare blue horizon, with nothing in it real or
fabulous.
If I am to love you, nothing but happiness is to be allowed to come of
it. So don't come true too fast without one little wee corresponding
wish for me to find that you are! I am quite happy thinking you out
slowly: it takes me all day long; the longer the better!
I wonder how often in my life I shall write down that I love you, having
once written it (I do:--I love you! there [it] is for you, with more to
follow after!); and send you my love as I do now into the great
emptiness of chance, hoping somehow, known or unknown, it may bless you
and bring good to you.
Oh, but 'tis a windy world, and I a mere feather in it: how can I get
blown the way I would?
Still I have a superstition that some star is over me which I have not
seen yet, but shall,--Heaven helping me.
And now good-night, and no more, no more at all! I send out an "I love
you" to be my celestial commercial traveler for me while I fold myself
up and become its sleeping partner.
Good-night: you are the best and truest that I ever dreamed yet.