I did not go next morning, although I wished to do so. I hardly know
why I waited until Friday; it was not only unreasonable on my part,
but also not quite straightforward. How is it that, even when
circumstances might enable us to act according to our impulses, some
unexpected inconsistency in our own selves throws a bar across the
path? I begin to think that it must be an idle dream,--sincerity,
self-honesty. My thoughts are fixed upon it constantly, I strive
towards it with heart and soul; yet daily, under the very eyes of my
own scrutiny, I lie either in word or in action.

Well, on Friday I went, and we had a happy time together. I cannot
tell you how grateful I am to have met this creature, to come once
again into contact with a being whose footsteps fall near my own. We
are are very different, yet I feel that our faces are turned towards
the same light. I told him a great deal about my mother; she would
have loved him.

There goes the second bell, and I have not even washed my hands.
Farewell for to-day.

Yours in all truth,
EMILIA.




LETTER XVI.