to be told
that I am loved, for though a woman may know that, she likes to hear it
said and is never tired of hearing it.

But things have gone against us, and it is almost sinfully ungrateful to
regret anything when we have so many reasons for thankfulness.

And then about Girlie--I used to think it would be terrible (for me, I
mean) to die before she could be old enough to have any clear memory of
her mother (such as I have of mine) to cherish and love--only the cold,
blank, unfilled by a face, which must be all that remains to most of
those whose parents passed away while they were children. But I am not
afraid of that now, because I know that in the future, when our little
girl asks about her mother, you will describe me to her as _you_ saw and
remember me--and that will be _so_ much sweeter and lovelier than I ever
was, and it will be _such_ a joy to think that my daughter sees me
through her father's eyes.

Besides, dearest, there is something still more thrilling--the thought
that Girlie may grow to be like me (like what you _think_ me), and that
in the time to come she may startle you with undescribable resemblances,
in her voice or smile, or laugh, to her mother in heaven, so that some
day, perhaps, years and years hence, when she is quite grown up, she may
touch your arm and you may turn quickly to look at her, and lo! it will
seem to you as if Mary herself (_your_ Mary) were by your side. Oh
Death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?

Go on with your great work, dearest. Don't let it flag from any cold
feeling that I am lost to you. Whenever you think of me, say to
yourself, "Mary is here; Love is stronger than death, many waters cannot
quench it."

Did you ever read Browning? I have been doing so during the last few
days, nurse (she is quite a thoughtful woman) having lent me his last
volume. When I read the last lines of what is said to have been his last
poem I thought of you, dear:

"_No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
'Strive and thrive!' Cry 'Speed,--fight on, fare ever
There as here!'_"

I am going to get up again to-day, dear, having something to do that is
just a little important--to give you this manuscript book, in which I
have been writing every day (or rather every night since you found me in
London.)

You will see what it is, and why