January 28, 1846

      Ever dearest—I will say, as you desire, nothing on that subject—but this strictly for myself: you engaged me to consult my own good in the keeping or breaking our engagement; not your good as it might even seem to me; much less seem to another. My only good in this world—that against which all the world goes for nothing—is to spend my life with you, and be yours. You know that when I claim anything, it is really yourself in me—you give me a right and bid me use it, and I, in fact, am most obeying you when I appear most exacting on my own account—so, in that feeling, I dare claim, once for all, and in all possible cases (except that dreadful one of your becoming worse again…in which case I wait till life ends with both of us), I claim your promise’s fulfillment—say, at the summer’s end: it cannot be for your good that this state of things should continue. We can go to Italy for a year or two and be as happy as day and night are long. For me, I adore you. This is all unnecessary, I feel as I write: but you will think of the main fact as ordained, granted by God, will you not, dearest? — so, not to be put in doubt ever again—then, we can go quietly thinking of after matters. Till tomorrow, and ever after, God bless my heart’s own, own Ba. All my soul follows you, love—encircles you—and I live in being yours.