insists that "Mutual Life" is an incorrect expression. I don't care;
it says what I mean. Needless to add that, in our case, such a
prevision is as good as superfluous, but we feel bound to act up to
our principles!




LETTER XXX.


GRAYSMILL, February 19th.

Beloved, we wrote you a few lines together this afternoon, but I
must write again, I alone, to thank you for your letter and tell you
all you ask to know. Yet, indeed, I know not what to tell you. I am
happy; the sun is in my heart. I tried to write to you before, but
the words failed me; besides--my own self is a stranger to me. This
marvel of marvels, a perfectly happy woman, has nothing in common
with Emilia Fletcher, as you and I have known her.

I believe that Lethe was Joy's well. The past has floated from me
like a bank of mist, I stand flooded in light. And if I look behind
me I see nothing. Two phantoms merely,--my love for my mother, my
love for you,--all else is gone. Where are they now, the clouds that
pressed so close upon me? Three words, and lo! the sky is clear. I
have even forgotten what it felt like to stand there in the gloom
with breaking heart.

We have made no plans yet; that is to say, we have made so many that