You should have married a poet. You have made an uncommonly good
match and ought to be thankful.' A poet! I know nothing of poets,
but I do know that if marriage for passion be folly, there is no
true marriage without it.


BLACKDEEP, 7th February 1839.

I am no clearer now than I was a fortnight ago. I wish I could talk
to somebody, and then perhaps my thoughts would settle themselves.
Last Sunday I made up my mind I would come to you at all costs; then
I doubted, and this morning again I was going to start at once. Now
my doubts have returned. Jim notices how worried I am, and I make
excuses.

I cannot rest while I am not able to do more than put you off by
praying you to bear your lot patiently. It is so hard to stand
helpless and counsel patience. Could you give him up and live here?
I am held back, though, from this at present. I am not sure what
might happen if you were to leave him. Perhaps he would be able to
force you to return. You have no charge to make against him which
anybody but myself would understand.

I must still wait for the light which I trust will be given me. It
is wonderful how sometimes it strikes down on me suddenly and
sometimes grows by degrees like the day over Ingleby Fen. I lay in
bed late this morning, for I hadn't slept much, and watched it as it
spread, and I thought of my Esther in London who never sees the
sunrise.