inscription of the date and name, and I will
tell you why: I believe that they are the only two or three words of
your handwriting in my possession. For your letters I returned, and
except the two words, or rather the one word, 'household,' written twice
in an old account-book, I have no other. I burnt your last note for two
reasons:--firstly, it was written in a style not very agreeable; and,
secondly, I wished to take your word without documents, which are the
worldly resources of suspicious people.

"I suppose that this note will reach you somewhere about Ada's
birthday--the 10th of December, I believe. She will then be six, so that
in about twelve more I shall have some chance of meeting her; perhaps
sooner, if I am obliged to go to England by business or otherwise.
Recollect, however, one thing, either in distance or nearness: every day
which keeps us asunder should, after so long a period, rather soften our
mutual feelings, which must always have one rallying-point as long as
our child exists, which I presume we both hope will be long after either
of her parents.

"The time which has elapsed since the separation has been considerably
more than the whole brief period of our union, and the not much longer
one of our prior acquaintance. We both made a bitter mistake; but now it
is over, and irrevocably so. For at thirty-three on my part, and a few
years less on yours, though it is no very extended period of life, still
it is one when the habits and thoughts are generally so formed as to
admit of no modification; and as we could not agree when younger, we
should with difficulty do so now.

"I say all this, because I own to you that, notwithstanding every thing,
I considered our reunion as not impossible for more than a year after
the separation; but then I gave up the hope entirely and forever. But
this very impossibility of reunion seems to me, at least, a reason why,
on all the few points of discussion which can arise between us, we
should preserve the courtesies of life, and as much of its kindness as
people who are never to meet may preserve, perhaps more easily than
nearer connections. For my own part, I am violent, but not malignant;
for only fresh provocations can awaken my resentment. To you, who are
colder and more concentrated, I would just hint that you may sometimes
mistake the depth of a cold anger for dignity, and a worse feeling for
duty. I assure you that I bear you now (whatever I may have done) no