ST JOHN,

It feels so strange to me to write to you in such language
as this. And yet you are dearest, and have I not a right to
call you so? And are you not my own, and am not I yours?
[Again he crunched the paper up in his hand, and, as he did
so, he muttered words which I need not repeat at length.
But still he went on with his letter.] I know that we
understand each other perfectly, and when that is the case,
heart should be allowed to speak openly to heart. Those
are my feelings, and I believe that you will find them
reciprocal in your own bosom. Is it not sweet to be loved?
I find it so. And, dearest John, let me assure you, with
open candour, that there is no room for jealousy in this
breast with regard to you. I have too much confidence for
that, I can assure you, both in your honour and in my
own--I would say charms, only you would call me vain. You
must not suppose that I meant what I said about L. D.
Of course, you will be glad to see the friends of your
childhood; and it would be far from your Amelia's heart to
begrudge you such delightful pleasure. Your friends will,
I hope, some day be my friends. [Another crunch.] And if
there be any one among them, any real L. D. whom you have
specially liked, I will receive her to my heart, specially
also. [This assurance on the part of his Amelia was too
much for him, and he threw the letter from him, thinking
whence he might get relief--whether from suicide or from
the colonies; but presently he took it up again, and
drained the bitter cup to the bottom.] And if I seemed
petulant to you before you went away, you must forgive your
own Amelia. I had nothing before me but misery for the
month of your absence. There is no one here congenial to my
feelings,--of course not. And you would not wish me to be
happy in your absence,--would you? I can assure you, let
your wishes he what they may, I never can be happy again
unless you are with me. Write to me one little line, and
tell me that you are grateful to me for my devotion.

And now, I must tell you that we have had a sad affair in
the house; and I do not think that your friend Mr Cradell
has behaved at all well. You remember how he has been
always going on with Mrs Lupex. Mother was quite unhappy
about it, though she didn't like to say anything. Of
course, when a lady's name is concerned, it is