Well. Say "well" with me, dearest! It is going to be well: waiting has not suited us--not any of us, I think. Your mother is one in a thousand, I say that and mean it:--worth conquering as all good things are. I would not wish great fortune to come by too primrosy a way. "Canst thou draw out Leviathan with a hook?" Even so, for size, is the share of the world which we lay claim to, and for that we must be toilers of the deep.--Always, Beloved, your truest and most loving. LETTER LVI. My Own Own Love: You have given me a spring day before the buds begin,-- the weather I have been longing for! I had been quite sad at heart these cold wet days, really _down_;--a treasonable sadness with you still anywhere in the world (though where in the world have you been?). Spring seemed such a long way off over the bend of it, with you unable to come; and it seems now another letter of yours has got lost. (Write it again, dearest,--all that was in it, with any blots that happened to come:--there was a dear smudge in to-day's, with the whirlpool mark of your thumb quite clear on it,--delicious to rest my face against and feel _you_ there.) And so back to my spring weather: all in a moment you gave me a whole week of the weather I had longed after. For you say the sun has been shining on you: and I would rather have it there than here if it refuses to be in two places at once. Also my letters have pleased you. When they do, I feel such a proud mother to them! Here they fly quick out of the nest; but I think sometimes they must come to you broken-winged, with so much meant and all so badly put. How can we ever, with our poor handful of senses, contrive to express ourselves perfectly? Perhaps,--I don't know:--dearest, I love you! I kiss you a hundred times to the minute. If everything in the world were dark round us, could not kisses tell us quite well all that we wish to know of each other?--me that you were true and brave and so beautiful that a woman must be afraid looking at you:--and you that I was just my very self,--loving and--no! just loving: I have no room for anything more! You have swallowed up all my moral qualities, I have none left: I am a beggar, where it is so sweet to beg.--Give me back crumbs of myself! I am so hungry, I cannot show it, only by kissing you a hundred times.