Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net THE WINGS OF ICARUS BEING THE LIFE OF ONE EMILIA FLETCHER AS REVEALED BY HERSELF IN I. THIRTY-FIVE LETTERS WRITTEN TO CONSTANCE NORRIS BETWEEN JULY 18TH, 188-, AND MARCH 26TH OF THE FOLLOWING YEAR II. A FRAGMENTARY JOURNAL III. A POSTSCRIPT BY LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA New York MACMILLAN AND COMPANY AND LONDON 1894 THE WINGS OF ICARUS. THE LETTERS. LETTER I. FLETCHER'S HALL, GRAYSMILL, July 18th. _Dear and Beloved Constance_,--What shall I say to you? Here I sit, in a strange room, in a strange land,--and my life lies behind me. It is close upon midnight, and very dark. I can see nothing out of window. The air is hot and heavy, the moths flutter round my candle; I cannot save them all. I am trying to write you a letter--do you understand? Oh, but I have no thoughts, only visions! Three there are that rise before me, sometimes separately, sometimes all together. I see you, Mrs. Norris. We are standing on the platform, side by side; people leaning out of window in my night-gown, watching the mists rise in the valley. The air is very sweet here in England; I see oceans of trees, great stretches of heath and meadow. Surely, surely one ought to be happy in this beautiful world! I shall dress quickly and go out. This letter, such as it is, shall go to you by the first post, and to-night I shall write again, when I myself know something of my surroundings. Good-bye then for the present, my best and dearest. EMILIA. LETTER II. July 19. It is just half-past ten, my Constance; the two old ladies have gone to bed. I am getting on very well, on the whole, although I had the misfortune to keep them waiting three-quarters of an hour for breakfast this morning. It was so beautiful out of doors, and I was so happy roaming in field and wood,--happy with the happiness sunshine can lay atop of the greatest sorrow,--that I stayed out till nearly ten o'clock. I had taken some milk and bread in the kitchen before starting, not realising that breakfast here is a solemn meal. Poor old souls! they were too polite to begin without me, and I found them positively drooping with hunger.