ould be gone.

Good-by, dearest, and good-by, and good-by! If you want letters from me
now, you must ask for them! That the earth contains us both, and that we
love each other, is about all that I have mind enough to take in. I do not
think I can love you more than I do: you are no longer my dream but my
great waking thought. I am waiting for no blue-moonrise now: my heart has
not a wish which you do not fulfill. I owe you my whole life, and for any
good to you must pay it out to the last farthing, and still feel myself
your debtor.

Oh, Beloved, I am most poor and most rich when I think of your love.
Good-night; I can never let thought of you go!

* * * * *

Beloved: These are almost all of them, but not quite; a few here and there
have cried to be taken out, saying they were still too shy to be looked
at. I can't argue with them: they know their own minds best; and you know
mine.

See what a dignified historic name I have given this letter-box, or
chatterbox, or whatever you like to call it. But "Resurrection Pie" is
_my_ name for it. Don't eat too much of it, prays your loving.

LETTER XXIII.

Saving your presence, dearest, I would rather have Prince Otto, a very
lovable character for second affections to cling to. Richard Feverel would
never marry again, so I don't ask for him: as for the rest, they are all
too excellent for me. They give me the impression of having worn
copy-books under their coats, when they were boys, to cheat punishment:
and the copy-books got beaten into their systems.

You must find me somebody who was a "gallous young hound" in the days of
his youth--Crossjay, for instance:--there! I have found the very man for
me!

But really and truly, are you better? It will not hurt your foot to come
to me, since I am not to come to you? How I long to see you again,
dearest! it is an age! As a matter of fact, it is a fortnight: but I dread
lest you will find some change in me. I have kept a real white hair to
show you, I drew it out of my comb the other morning: wound up into a curl
it becomes quite visible, and it is ivory-white: you are not to think it
flaxen, and take away its one wee sentiment! And I make you an offer:--you
shall have it if, honestly, you can find in your own head a white one to
exchange.

Dearest, I am not _hurt_, nor do I take seriously to heart your mother's
present coldness. How much more I could forgive her when I put myself in