read me
extracts, until it was too dark to see; even then he once struck a
match to find a passage.

For the sake of argument we occasionally took opposite sides, but,
in fact, we were both agreed upon the principal point; namely, that
although man enters the world against his will, he may surely choose
the time and the manner of his exit. That this is every one's right
we both believe, yet believe, also, that the right should be
sparingly used. For although suicide might almost be considered an
act of duty on the part of those suffering from incurable disease,
mental or physical, most of us, however useless and superfluous we
may at times believe ourselves to be, have, willy-nilly, the fate of
some fellow-creature bound up with our own; and it is surely an act
of unpardonable cowardice to make our escape from a world of
difficulties, leaving others to bear the burden of our faults.

But, really, I must put an end to this letter; I never wrote such a
long one in my life, not even I, not even to you. My friend left me
as we approached Graysmill, saying that he dared not set foot on the
confines of respectability.

That was Thursday, and I have not seen him since.

Good-bye, my dearest; I kiss your sweet eyes.

EMILIA.

LETTER XV.

GRAYSMILL, October 31st.

No, of course I have not said a word about it at the house; what an
idea! Why should I? Good gracious me, they'd think me mad. Besides,
I am my own mistress, and am not answerable to anybody for my
actions. Not for the world would I speak of the Nortons to any of
these people here.

Ida Seymour is a fixture, for the present, at least. Her good
offices leave me a great deal more liberty than I enjoyed during the
first few months. Apart from meal-times I give some two hours a day
to my old ladies, and work hard the rest of the time. I have
finished "Prometheus," and laid it aside to await revision; I am now
sorting my mother's papers, with a view to some day publishing a
selection of them. Perhaps. But there is such a sacredness to me
about all she has left behind, that I cannot yet bear the thought of
sending anything that remains of her out into the cold world, to be
misjudged and misprized.

How can you ask me what colour his eyes are? When did you know me
care for any one--except mamma--whose eyes were not blue? His are
very dark, and very beautif