choice between them is impossible. Still, although we build fresh
castles in the air each time we meet, they all float towards Italy,
in the springtime, halting a while where Constance is. If, indeed,
there be a cloud remaining in my heaven, it is that you two, my
soul's monarchs, know each other only through the medium of my love.
My eyes long to hold you both; I want to walk in the body, as I do
in the spirit, clasping a hand of each.

And to think that she is dead! Shall I tell you something very
strange, almost inconceivable? I cannot help feeling as if she knew.
Surely, Death cannot wholly part a mother from her child.

Good night, my dear little one.

EMILIA.




LETTER XXXI.


GRAYSMILL, February 24th.

I showed some parts of your letter to Gabriel, and we laughed very
much. What a bird she is, my Constance! He is ever so much taller
than I. We compared our height with the utmost care, this morning,
for your especial benefit. Do you remember--what should I do to you,
by the way, if you didn't?--that when your head is on my shoulder,
my chin just makes a little roof for your curls, so that you always