ust
be more than a week; I know that that prospect was only held out by
your affection. Days must elapse before you can reach Bath; and I know,
Ferdinand, I know your office is more difficult than you will confess.
But come back, my own, as soon as you can, and write to me at the
post-office, as you settled.

If you are well, as you say, leave the farm directly. The consciousness
that you are so near makes me restless. Remember, in a few hours papa
will be here. I wish to meet him with as much calmness as I can command.

Ferdinand, I must bid you adieu! My tears are too evident. See, they
fall upon the page. Think of me always. Never let your Henrietta be
absent from your thoughts. If you knew how desolate this house is! Your
guitar is on the sofa; a ghost of departed joy!

Farewell, Ferdinand! I cannot write, I cannot restrain my tears. I know
not what to do. I almost wish papa would return, though I dread to see
him. I feel the desolation of this house, I am so accustomed to see you
here!

Heaven be with you, and guard over you, and cherish you, and bless you.
Think always of me. Would that this pen could express the depth and
devotion of my feelings!

Henrietta.

CHAPTER II.

_Which, Supposing the Reader Is Interested in the
Correspondence, Pursues It_.

DEAREST! A thousand, thousand thanks, a thousand, thousand blessings,
for your letter from Armine, dear, dear Armine, where some day we shall
be so happy! It was such a darling letter, so long, so kind, and so
_clear_. How could you for a moment fancy that your Henrietta would not
be able to decipher that dear, dear handwriting! Always cross, dearest:
your handwriting is so beautiful that I never shall find the slightest
difficulty in making it out, if your letters were crossed a thousand
times. Besides, to tell the truth, I should rather like to experience
a little difficulty in reading your letters, for I read them so often,
over and over again, till I get them by heart, and it is such a delight
every now and then to find out some new expression that escaped me in
the first fever of perusal; and then it is sure to be some darling word,
fonder than all the rest!

Oh! my Ferdinand, how shall I express to you my love? It seems to me
now that I never loved you until this separation, that I have never been
half grateful enough to you for all your goodness. It makes me weep to
remember all the soft things you have said, all the kind things you