m: I wonder ... I confirm my soul in its belief
in perpetual miraculousness ... I bless God with my whole heart that
it is thus with you! And so, I will not even venture to say--so
superfluous it were, though with my most earnest, most loving breath
(I who _do_ love you more at every breath I draw; indeed, yes
dearest,)--I _will not_ bid you--that is, pray you--to persevere! You
have all my life bound to yours--save me from _my 'seven years'_--and
God reward you!

Your own R.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

[Post-mark, February 5, 1846.]

But I did not--dear, dearest--no indeed, I did not mean any harm about
the letter. I wanted to show you how you had given me pleasure--and
so,--did I give you pain? was _that_ my ingenuity? Forgive my
unhappiness in it, and let it be as if it had not been. Only I will
just say that what made me talk about 'the thorn in the flesh' from
that letter so long, was a sort of conviction of your having put into
it as much of the truth, _your_ truth, as admitted of the ultimate
purpose of it, and not the least, slightest doubt of the key you gave
me to the purpose in question. And so forgive me. Why did you set
about explaining, as if I were doubting you? When you said once that
it 'did not come and go,'--was it not enough? enough to make me feel
happy as I told you? Did I require you to write a letter like this?
Now think for a moment, and know once for all, how from the beginning
to these latter days and through all possible degrees of crisis, you
have been to my apprehension and gratitude, the best, most consistent,
most noble ... the words falter that would speak of it all. In nothing
and at no moment have you--I will not say--failed to _me_, but spoken
or acted unworthily of yourself at the highest. What have you ever
been to me except too generous? Ah--if I had been only half as
generous, it is true that I never could have seen you again after that
first meeting--it was the straight path perhaps. But I had not
courage--I shrank from the thought of it--and then ... besides ... I
could not believe that your mistake was likely to last,--I concluded
that I might keep my friend.

Why should any remembrance be painful to _you_? I do not understand.
Unless indeed I should grow painful to you ... I myself!--seeing that
every remembered separate thing has brought me nearer to you, and made
me yours with a deeper trust and