here is no
drop of bitterness in all this flood of sorrow. In the midst of the
great anguish which God has given, you have to thank Him for some
blessing with every pang as it comes. Never was a more beautiful,
serene, assuring death than this we are all in tears for--for, believe
me, my very dear sister, I have mourned with you, knowing what we all
have lost, I who never saw her nor shall see her until a few years
shall bring us all together to the place where none mourn nor are
parted. Sarianna, will it not be possible, do you think, for you and
your father to come here, if only for a few months? Then you might
decide on the future upon more knowledge than you have now. It
would be comfort and joy to Robert and me if we could all of us live
together henceforward. Think what you would like, and how you would
best like it. Your living on _even through this summer at that house_,
I, who have well known the agony of such bindings to the rack, do
protest against. Dearest Sarianna, it is not good or right either
for you or for your dear father. For Robert to go back to that house
unless it were to do one of you some good, think how it would be with
_him_! Tell us now (for he yearns towards you--we both do), what is
the best way of bringing us all together, so as to do every one of us
some good? If Florence is too far off, is there any other place where
we could meet and arrange for the future? Could not your dear father's
leave of absence be extended this summer, out of consideration of what
has happened, and would he not be so enabled to travel with you and
meet us _somewhere_? We will do anything. For my part, I am full of
anxiety; and for Robert, you may guess what his is, you who know him.
Very bitter has it been to me to have interposed unconsciously as
I have done and deprived him of her last words and kisses--very
bitter--and nothing could be so consolatory to me as to give him back
to _you_ at least. So think for me, dearest Sarianna--think for your
father and yourself, think for Robert--and remember that Robert and
I will do anything which shall appear possible to you. May God bless
you, both of you! Give my true love to your father. Feeling for you
and with you always and most tenderly, I am your affectionate sister,
BA.

_To Miss Mitford_
Florence: April 30, 1849.

I am writing to you, _at last_, you will say, ever dearest Miss
Mitford; but, except once to Wimpole Street, this is the first packet
of letters