als. In either
case a separation between Laura and me is inevitable. It will be a
longer separation, in the event of their going abroad, than it would be
in the event of their remaining in London--but we must set against this
disadvantage the benefit to Laura, on the other side, of passing the
winter in a mild climate, and more than that, the immense assistance in
raising her spirits, and reconciling her to her new existence, which
the mere wonder and excitement of travelling for the first time in her
life in the most interesting country in the world, must surely afford.
She is not of a disposition to find resources in the conventional
gaieties and excitements of London. They would only make the first
oppression of this lamentable marriage fall the heavier on her. I
dread the beginning of her new life more than words can tell, but I see
some hope for her if she travels--none if she remains at home.

It is strange to look back at this latest entry in my journal, and to
find that I am writing of the marriage and the parting with Laura, as
people write of a settled thing. It seems so cold and so unfeeling to
be looking at the future already in this cruelly composed way. But
what other way is possible, now that the time is drawing so near?
Before another month is over our heads she will be HIS Laura instead of
mine! HIS Laura! I am as little able to realise the idea which those
two words convey--my mind feels almost as dulled and stunned by it--as
if writing of her marriage were like writing of her death.

December 1st.--A sad, sad day--a day that I have no heart to describe
at any length. After weakly putting it off last night, I was obliged
to speak to her this morning of Sir Percival's proposal about the
wedding tour.

In the full conviction that I should be with her wherever she went, the
poor child--for a child she is still in many things--was almost happy
at the prospect of seeing the wonders of Florence and Rome and Naples.
It nearly broke my heart to dispel her delusion, and to bring her face
to face with the hard truth. I was obliged to tell her that no man
tolerates a rival--not even a woman rival--in his wife's affections,
when he first marries, whatever he may do afterwards. I was obliged to
warn her that my chance of living with her permanently under her own
roof, depended entirely on my not arousing Sir Percival's jealousy and
distrust by standing between them at the beginning of their marriage,