ess. I forgot there was anything in
time or space except the flood which carried me out on a sea of just
you--the sweeping, overwhelming many waters of--you. I wonder if you'd
think me brazen if I told you how it seemed? As if your arms were
around me, and the world reeling. Some of those clever psychologists,
James or Lodge, I can't remember who, have a theory that to higher
beings the past and present and future are all one; no divisions in
eternity. It seemed like that. Questions and life and right and wrong
all dissolved in the white heat of one fact. I didn't see or hear or
know. I put my head on the table, on your writing, in my locked room,
and simply felt--your arms.

If this were to be a happy love-affair I couldn't write this; I would
have decent reserve--I hope; I would wait, maybe, and let you find out
things slowly. But there isn't time--oh, there isn't any time. I have
to tell you now because this is the last. You can't write again; I
won't let you throw away your life; I'm not worth much, generally
speaking, but I'm worth your salvation just now if I have the strength
to give it to you. And I'm staggering under the effort, but I'm going
to give it to you. I'm going to keep you away.

It was realizing that I must do this which beat me to earth with those
terrible, bright, sharp swords. You see I'm starting off suddenly with
Uncle Ted. He is very ill, with heart trouble, and the doctors think
his chance is to get to Nauheim at once. It was decided last night,
and we had passage engaged for Saturday within an hour, and then this
morning the letter came. As soon as I could pull myself together a
little I began to see how things were, and it looked to me as if
somebody--God maybe--had put down a specific hand to punish my useless
life and arrange your salvation. My going away is the means He is
using.

For you are such a headstrong unknown quantity, that if I had seen you,
I couldn't have held you, and how could I have fought the exquisite
sweetness and glamour that is through even your written words, that
would make me wax in your hands, if you had been here and I had heard
your voice and seen your eyes and felt your touch; oh, I would have
done it--I _must_ do it--but it would have killed me I think. It's
more possible this way.

For I'm going indefinitely and all I have to do is to suppress my
address. Just that. You can't find it out, for Robin is going away
too; he is to do some