was, plus love; when we love, we throw ourselves headlong into the
flood, and are nothing that we were.

So now you know all about it, and can prepare yourself for a gay
companion. I have made up my mind to leave England, and join you in
Vienna. No, it must be Italy; you must leave Vienna and come towards
me.

You cannot see that between the last sentence and this there is a
pause of ten minutes. It is all very well for me to talk of leaving
Graysmill; I do talk of it, the words are words, but I don't
understand them. I cannot leave; I ought to,--yet, Constance, I
cannot leave him!

Write, you, and tell me where we shall meet; not in Florence, I
could not bear that. And yet, perhaps, yes, in Florence. It will
have to be, and I shall not realise that I have left him until I am
with you again. There is comfort in that thought. One can do
anything, after all, with a little determination, can't one,
Constantia? Not that you can judge, you who never had any. Perhaps I
have none myself, who knows? I have so deceived myself in loving
Gabriel, and laid bare such great and unknown weakness in my own
bosom, that all the world is upside down for me, and I can find my
way no longer.

Write and tell me soon where we shall meet.

Your EMILIA.