Your little
EMILIA.




LETTER XXVII.


February 12th.

Could you meet me a little sooner, perhaps, and not wait until the
twenty-third? I must leave Graysmill at once. I shall go to the
Cottage to-morrow afternoon, and tell them. I shall tell the others
tonight, and on Monday I shall leave Graysmill forever. If you think
you cannot reach Florence by Wednesday or Thursday, never mind, you
will join me as soon as you can; only send me a telegram. I can go
and stay with Marianna until you come.

I can bear it no longer! The world holds but one thought; the day
and the night are lost in the constant reiteration of every word he
ever said to me, in the resuscitation of every glance, every touch.
And, poring over these in my memory, I try to read between the lines
the words that are not there, to read "I love you."

Oh, I am very weak, yet, believe me, it is all against my will. I
have fought this folly, I despise myself utterly, and yet now I am
swept away by the flood, I can struggle no more. I shall die of
this, or run mad.