Martin, dear, try and write every day,
even if it's only the shortest line, because it is dreadful to be
shut up all day, and I think of you all the time and wonder how you
are. Don't be unhappy, Martin--that's the one thing I couldn't bear.
If you're not, I'm not. There's no reason to be unhappy about me.
I'm very cheerful indeed if I know that you are all right. You are
all right, aren't you? I do want to know what happened when you got
home. I quite understand that the one thing you must do now is to
keep your father well and not let anything trouble him. If the
thought of me troubles him, then tell him that you are thinking of
nothing but him now and how to make him happy. But don't let them
change your feeling for me. You know me better than any of them do
and I am just as you know me, every bit. The aunts are very angry
because they say I deceived them, but they haven't any right to tell
me who I shall love, have they? No one has. I am myself and nobody's
ever cared for me except you--and Uncle Mathew, so I don't see why I
should think of anybody. The aunts never cared for me really--only
to make me religious.
Pages:
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468