Who has been using your hand to strike me like this, and why do you lend
it? Oh, if it is she, you do not owe her _that_ duty! Never write such
things:--speak! have you ever found me not listen to you, or hard to
convince? Dearest, dearest!--take what I mean: I cannot write over this
gulf. Come to me,--I will believe anything you can _say_, but I can
believe nothing of this written. I must see you and hear what it is you
mean. Dear heart, I am blind till I set eyes on you again! Beloved, I have
nothing, nothing in me but love for you: except for that I am empty!
Believe me and give me time; I will not be unworthy of the joy of holding
you. I am nothing if not _yours_! Tell this to whoever is deceiving you.
Oh, my dearest, why did you stay away from me to write so? Come and put an
end to a thing which means nothing to either of us. You love me: how can
it have a meaning?
Can you not hear my heart crying?--I love nobody but you--do not know
what love is without you! How can I be more yours than I am? Tell me, and
I will be!
Here are kisses. Do not believe yourself till you have seen me. Oh, the
pain of having to _write_, of not having your arms round me in my misery!
I kiss your dear blind eyes with all my heart.--My Love's most loved and
loving.
LETTER LVIII.
No, no, I cannot read it! What have I done that you will not
come to me? They are mad here, telling me to be calm, that I am not to
go to you.
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