t is only forgetfulness; and yet what can
be more unkind than forgetfulness? I am sure I have never forgotten you.
Sleep itself, which wraps all other images in forgetfulness, only brings
you nearer, and makes me see you more distinctly.

But where can this letter stay?--Oh! that--hush! foolish girl! If a word
of that kind escape thy lips, Arthur will be angry with thee; and then,
indeed, thou mightest weep in earnest. _Then_ thou wouldst have some
cause for thy tears. More than once already has he almost broken thy
heart with his reproaches. Sore and weak as it now is, any new
reproaches would assuredly break it quite.

I _will_ be content. I will be as good a housewife and dairywoman, stir
about as briskly, and sing as merrily, as Peggy Curling. Why not? I am
as young, as innocent, and enjoy as good health. Alas! she has reason to
be merry. She has father, mother, brothers; but I have none. And he that
was all these, and more than all these, to me, has--_forgotten_ me.

But, perhaps, it is some accident that hinders. Perhaps Oliver left the
market earlier than he used to do; or you mistook the house; or perhaps
some poor creature was sick, was taken suddenly ill, and you were busy
in chafing his clay-cold limbs; it fell to you to wipe the clammy drops
from his brow. Such things often happen (don't they, Arthur?) to people
of your trade, and some such thing has happened now; and that was the
reason you did not write.

And if so, shall I repine at your silence? Oh no! At such a time the
poor Bess might easily be, and ought to be, forgotten. She would not
deserve your love if she could repine at a silence brought about this
way.

And oh! may it be so! May there be nothing worse than this! If the sick
man--see, Arthur, how my hand trembles. Can you read this scrawl? What
is always bad, my fears make worse than ever.

I must not think that. And yet, if it be so, if my friend himself be
sick, what will become of me? Of me, that ought to cherish you and
comfort you; that ought to be your nurse. Endure for you your sickness,
when she cannot remove it.

Oh! that----I _will_ speak out--Oh that this strange scruple had never
possessed you! Why should I _not_ be with you? Who can love you and
serve you as well as I? In sickness and health, I will console and
assist you. Why will you deprive yourself of such a comforter and such
an aid as I would be to you?

Dear Arthur, think better of it. Let me leave this dreary spot,