Her eyes assented, with
a look of relief. She knew that I had already developed the
tastes of the nomad and the sun-worshipper, that I was a
student, happy in books and solitude; and I have no doubt
that the picture her mind formed at the moment of some such
hidden life together, as we have actually led, you and I,
since her death, soothed and consoled her. With her intense
and poetic imagination, she knew well what had happened to
us, as well as to herself.
"So here we are in this hermitage; and except in a few
passing perfunctory words, I have never spoken to you of her.
Whether what I have done is wise I cannot tell. I could not
help it; and if I had broken my word, remorse would have
killed me. I shall not die, however, without telling you--if
only I have warning enough.
"But supposing there is no warning--then all that I write
now, and much else, will be in your hands some day. There are
moments when I feel a rush of comfort at the notion that I
may never have to watch your face as you hear the story;
there are others when the longing to hold you--child as you
still are--against my heart, and feel your tears--your tears
for her--mingling with mine, almost sweeps me off my feet.
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