her place! She may well feel a struggle and some resentment at having to
give up in any degree her place with you. All my selfishness would come
to the front if that were demanded of me.

Do not think, because I leave her alone, that I am repaying her coldness
in the same coin. I know that for the present anything I do must offend.
Have I demanded your coming too soon? Then stay away another day--or
two: every day only piles up the joy it will be to have your arms round
me once more. I can keep for a little longer: and the gray hair will
keep, and many to-morrows will come bringing good things for us, when
perhaps your mother's "share of the world" will be over.

Don't say it, but when you next kiss her, kiss her for me also: I am
sorry for all old people: their love of things they are losing is so far
more to be reverenced and made room for than ours of the things which
will come to us in good time abundantly.

To-night I feel selfish at having too much of your love: and not a bit
of it can I let go! I hope, Beloved, we shall live to see each other's
gray hairs in earnest: gray hairs that we shall not laugh at, as at this
one I pulled. How dark your dear eyes will look with a white setting! My
heart's heart, every day you grow larger round me, and I so much
stronger depending upon you!

I won't say--come for certain, to-morrow: but come if, and as soon as,
you can. I seem to see a mile further when I am on the lookout for you:
and I shall be long-sighted every day until you come. It is only
_doubtful_ hope deferred which maketh the heart sick. I am as happy as
the day is long waiting for you: but the day _is_ long, dearest, none
the less when I don't see you.

All this space on the page below is love. I have no time left to put it
into words, or words into it. You bless my thoughts constantly.--Believe
me, never your thoughtless.

LETTER XXIV.

Dearest: How, when, and where is there any use wrangling as to
which of us loves the other the best ("the better," I believe, would be
the more grammatical phrase in incompetent Queen's English), and why in
that of all things should we pretend to be rivals? For this at least
seems certain to me, that, being created male and female, no two lovers
since the world began ever loved each other quite in the _same_ way: it
is not in nature for it to be so. They cannot compare: only to the best
that is in them they _do_ love each after their kind,--as do we for
certain!