of
the remorse now weighing upon you, as far as it shall be within my power
to do so.

"Mr. Runningbrook has been invited by my brother to come and be her
companion. They have a strong affection for one another. He is a true
poet, full of reverence for a true woman."

[Wilfrid to Georgiana Ford:]

"I cannot thank you enough. When I think of her I am unmanned; and if
I let my thoughts fall back upon myself, I am such as you saw me that
night in Devon--helpless, and no very presentable figure. But you do not
picture her to me. I cannot imagine whether her face has changed; and,
pardon me, were I writing to you alone, I could have faith that the
delicate insight and angelic nature of a woman would not condemn my
desire to realize before my eyes the state she has fallen to. I see her
now under a black shroud. Have her features changed? I cannot remember
one--only at an interval her eyes. Does she look into the faces of
people as she used? Or does she stare carelessly away? Softly between
the eyes, is what I meant. I mean--but my reason for this particularity
is very simple. I would state it to you, and to no other. I cannot have
peace till she is restored; and my prayer is, that I may not haunt her
to defeat your labour. Does her face appear to show that I am quite
absent from her thoughts? Oh! you will understand me. You have seen me
stand and betray no suffering when a shot at my forehead would have been
mercy. To you I will dare to open my heart. I wish to be certain that
I have not injured her--that is all. Perhaps I am more guilty than
you think: more even than I can call to mind. If I may fudge by the
punishment, my guilt is immeasurable. Tell me--if you will but tell
me that the sacrifice of my life to her will restore her, it is hers.
Write, and say this, and I will come: Do not delay or spare me. Her dumb
voice is like a ghost in my ears. It cries to me that I have killed
it. Be actuated by no charitable considerations in refraining to write.
Could a miniature of her be sent? You will think the request strange;
but I want to be sure she is not haggard--not the hospital face I
fancy now, which accuses me of murder. Does she preserve the glorious
freshness she used to wear? She had a look--or did you see her before
the change? I only want to know that she is well."

[Tracy Runningbrook to Wilfrid:]

"You had my promise that I would write and give your conscience
a nightcap. I have a splendid one for you. Put i