Sometimes, in the hard work of this my life here, I begin to feel that I am no longer a young man, and that the reaction after the great strain, mental and bodily, of the last few months, has left me not so strong as I used to be. Not that I think I am about to die, far from it. I have a good constitution, which has worn well yet, and may wear on for some time, though not for ever, and I am nearly fifteen years older than you. It is very possible that before any change can come, I may leave you, never a wife, and yet a widow. Possible, among the numerous fatalities of life, that we may never be married--never even see one another again. Sometimes, when I see two young people married and happy, taking it all as a matter of course, scarcely even recognising it as happiness---just like Mr. and Mrs. Treherne, who hunted me out lately, and insisted on my visiting them--I think of you and me, and it seems very bitter, and I look on the future with less faith than fear. It might not be so if I could see you now and then--but oftentimes this absence feels like death. Theodora, if I should die before we are married, without any chance of writing down my last words, take them here. No, they will not come. I can but crush my lips upon this paper--only thy name, not thee, and call thee "my love, my love!" Remember, I loved thee--all my soul was full of the love of thee. It made life happy, earth beautiful, and Heaven nearer. It was with me day and night, in work or rest--as much a part of me as the hand I write with, or the breath I draw. I never thought of myself, but of "us." I never prayed but I prayed for two. Love, my love, so many miles away--O my God, why not grant me a little happiness before I die! Yet, as once I wrote before, and as she says always in all things, _Thy will be done._ CHAPTER III. HER STORY. _Friday night._ |My Dear Max, You have had your Dominical letter, as you call it, so regularly, that you must know all our doings at Rockmount almost as well as ourselves. If I write foolishly, and tell you all sorts of trivial things, perhaps some of them twice over, it is just because there is nothing else to tell. But, trivial or not, I have a feeling that you like to hear it--you care for everything that concerns me.