did no more
mean to try your letters ... mine ... such as they are to me now, by
the common critical measure, than the shepherds praised the pure tenor
of the angels who sang 'Peace upon earth' to them. It was enough that
they knew it for angels' singing. So do _you_ forgive me, beloved, and
put away from you the thought that I have let in between us any
miserable stuff 'de metier,' which I hate as you hate. And I will not
say any more about it, not to run into more imprudences of mischief.

On the other hand I warn you against saying again what you began to
say yesterday and stopped. Do not try it again. What may be quite good
sense from me, is from _you_ very much the reverse, and pray observe
that difference. Or did you think that I was making my own road clear
in the the thing I said about--'jilts'? No, you did not. Yet I am
ready to repeat of myself as of others, that if I ceased to love you,
I certainly would act out the whole consequence--but _that_ is an
impossible 'if' to my nature, supposing the conditions of it otherwise
to be probable. I never loved anyone much and ceased to love that
person. Ask every friend of mine, if I am given to change even in
friendship! _And to you...!_ Ah, but you never think of such a thing
seriously--and you are conscious that you did not say it very sagely.
You and I are in different positions. Now let me tell you an apologue
in exchange for your Wednesday's stories which I liked so, and mine
perhaps may make you 'a little wiser'--who knows?

It befell that there stood in hall a bold baron, and out he spake to
one of his serfs ... 'Come thou; and take this baton of my baronie,
and give me instead thereof that sprig of hawthorn thou holdest in
thine hand.' Now the hawthorn-bough was no larger a thing than might
be carried by a wood-pigeon to the nest, when she flieth low, and the
baronial baton was covered with fine gold, and the serf, turning it
in his hands, marvelled greatly.

And he answered and said, 'Let not my lord be in haste, nor jest with
his servant. Is it verily his will that I should keep his golden
baton? Let him speak again--lest it repent him of his gift.'

And the baron spake again that it was his will. 'And I'--he said once
again--'shall it be lawful for me to keep this sprig of hawthorn, and
will it not repent thee of thy gift?'

Then all the servants who stood in hall, laughed, and the serf's hands
trembled till they dropped the baton into the rushes, kno