Curious, isn"t it--this being knocked back into the necessity of writing letters--and so soon. But I can say anything now, can"t I? It doesn"t seem true, but it is--it is! When I think of that other letter, that last one, and all the months that I didn"t know even where you were! And now here"s the world transfigured. It _is_ true, isn"t it? I won"t wake up into that awful emptiness again? So many times I"ve done that. I"d made up my mind nothing was any use. I told d.i.c.k, just before we started on the motor trip. The stellar system had gone to pieces. But to-night I tore up the letter I"d got ready to send to the rector. All those preparations, and then to walk down a gravel path into heaven. It isn"t the slightest trouble for you to rebuild people"s worlds, is it? As for instance, Theodore"s. I must tell you that some incoherences have come in from that Gift of G.o.d, by way of the pilot, after they"d sailed. Mostly regarding Cousin Robin. Even that has worked out. And there"s Halarkenden--mustn"t I say McGregor, though?--going back home to wander at large in paradise. Three new worlds you set up in half an hour. I think you said once that you"d never done anything for anybody? Well, you"ve begun your job; didn"t I tell you it might be just around the corner? Besides "Cousin Robin,"
two things stuck out in Theodore"s epistle; he"s going to turn himself loose for the benefit of those working people in his factories, and he"s going to have "The Cairns" swept and garnished for you and me when--when we get there.
This is all true. I am sitting here, writing to her. She is going to be there when I get back. I am to have her for my own, to look at and to listen to and to love. She has said that she wanted it like that--I heard her say it. Oh my dear darling, there aren"t any words to tell you--you are like listening to music--you are the spirit of all the exquisite wonders that have ever been--you are the fragrant silence of shut gardens sleeping in the moonlight. What if I had missed you?
What if I"d never found you? You _will_ be there when I come back--you won"t vanish--you _are_ real? Think of the life opening out for you and me; this world now; afterwards the next. Oh my very dear, suppose you hadn"t waited--suppose you"d cut into G.o.d"s big pattern because some dark threads had to be woven into it! We shall look at the whole of it some day--all that mighty, living tapestry of His weaving, and we shall understand, then, and smile as we remember and know that no one can have a sense of light without the shadows. Suppose you hadn"t waited? But you did wait--you did--to let me love you.
SEA-ACRES, MONDAY, June 24th.
YOUR REVERENCE.
I can"t say but three words. Don Emory is waiting to post this in town. I do just want to tell you that if you write any more letters like that I am _not_ going to break the engagement. You"ll get the rest of this to-morrow. I thought I"d warn you. I am, for sure, yours,
AUGUST FIRST.