I mean--but my reason for this particularity is very
simple. I would state it to you, and to no other. I cannot have peace
till she is restored; and my prayer is, that I may not haunt her to
defeat your labour. Does her face appear to show that I am quite absent
from her thoughts? Oh! you will understand me. You have seen me stand and
betray no suffering when a shot at my forehead would have been mercy. To
you I will dare to open my heart. I wish to be certain that I have not
injured her--that is all. Perhaps I am more guilty than you think: more
even than I can call to mind. If I may fudge by the punishment, my guilt
is immeasurable. Tell me--if you will but tell me that the sacrifice of
my life to her will restore her, it is hers. Write, and say this, and I
will come: Do not delay or spare me. Her dumb voice is like a ghost in my
ears. It cries to me that I have killed it. Be actuated by no charitable
considerations in refraining to write. Could a miniature of her be sent?
You will think the request strange; but I want to be sure she is not
haggard--not the hospital face I fancy now, which accuses me of murder.
Does she preserve the glorious freshness she used to wear? She had a
look--or did you see her before the change? I only want to know that she
is well."

[Tracy Runningbrook to Wilfrid:]

"You had my promise that I would write and give your conscience a
nightcap. I have a splendid one for you. Put it on without any
hesitation. I find her quite comfortable. Powys reads Italian with her in
the morning. His sister (who might be a woman if she liked, but has an
insane preference for celestial neutrality) does the moral inculcation.
The effect is comical. I should like you to see Cold Steel leading Tame
Fire about, and imagining the taming to be her work! You deserve well of
your generation. You just did enough to set this darling girl alight.
Knights and squires numberless will thank you. The idea of your
reproaching yourself is monstrous. Why, there's no one thanks you more
than she does. You stole her voice, which some may think a pity, but I
don't, seeing that I would rather have her in a salon than before the
footlights. Imagine my glory in her!--she has become half cat! She moves
softly, as if she loved everything she touched; making you throb to feel
the little ball of her foot. Her eyes look steadily, like green jewels
before the veil of an Egyptian temple. Positively, her eyes have grown
green--or greenish!