Dearest: I am to have news of you. Arthur came to me last night, and told
me that, if I wished, he would bring me word of you. He goes to-morrow. He
put out the light that I might not see his face: I felt what was there.
You should know this of him: he has been the dearest possible of human
beings to me since I lost you. I am almost not unblessed when I have him
to speak to. Yet we can say so little together. I guess all he means. An
endless wish to give me comfort:--and I stay selfish. The knowledge that
he would stolidly die to serve me hardly touches me.
Oh, look kindly in his eyes if you see him: mine will be looking at you
out of his!