I have thus set down in a poor way a part of the only talk I ever had
with Georgiana on these subjects during the year 1851.


Yesterday, about sunset, the earth and sky were beautiful with that
fulness of peace which things often attain at the moment before they
alter and end. The hour seemed to me the last serene loveliness of
summer, soon to be ruffled by gales and blackened by frosts.

Georgiana stood at her window looking into the west. The shadows of
the trees in my yard fell longer and longer across the garden towards
her. Darkest among these lay the shapes of the cedars and the pines in
which the redbird had lived. Her whole attitude bespoke a mood
surrendered to memory; and I felt sure that we two were thinking of the
same thing.

As she has approached that mystical revelation of life which must come
with our marriage, Georgiana's gayety has grown subtly overcast. It is
as if the wild strain in her were a little sad at having to be captured
at last; and I too experience an indefinable pain that it has become my
lot to subdue her in this way. The thought possesses me that she
submits to marriage because she cannot live intimately with me and
lavish her love upon me in any other relation; and therefore I draw
back with awe from the idea of taking such possession of her as I will
and must.

As she stood at her window yesterday evening she caught sight of me
across the yard and silently beckoned. I went over and looked up at
her, waiting and smiling.