_Ugh_--how I hated that letter! _“Romeo”_ indeed! Wouldn’t we have a fine sentimental time--you with your prettiest dress on, and I holding you in my arms and telling you how much I loved you!
I shall be your wife. This thought takes hold of me firmly and calmly, and I have no tears, nor fright, nor uncertainty. I suffered, of course, while I read your letter, and my self-control toppled, but no “tears of despair” came into my eyes. I am not despairing--I shall be your wife, and I shall feel that for many years one of my greatest efforts will be to prevent you from becoming my “Romeo.” I am very weak and human, and you become that easily--do you know it?
Rejoice, I have gained my self-control, and well, I am going to be your wife. Or else (it comes to me quite as a matter of course, without any feeling of it being unnatural or unusual) I shall not care to live. But after all, I do not fear that I shall die--I shall be your wife. You may even gainsay it, you may _even_ tell me I shall ruin your life, you may _even_ tell me that you refuse to take me--but sooner or later I shall be your wife. I say it with perfect certainty, and almost composure.
It is unfortunate that at such a time as this I cannot see you--it is quite cruelly wicked. There is so much to say, not all in _your_ favor either. Some day I shall learn to bring out and keep before me that higher self of yours, which _now_ I do not fear. I also have a higher self, though it does not show itself very often. It is a self which can meet that self of yours without flinching, but which loves it, and stretches out its arms to it--which knows that without that self of yours it cannot, _will_ not live. It is hard to realize such a thing, but I beseech you no longer, I am going with you. You see now, I have no fear of your not taking me--I simply have no fear of this.
If I had, I could not write you this way. But you have been the means of showing me I _can_ awaken, and that I was not meant to live the life of the people around me. Chance tried hard to put me to sleep forever, but you have roused me. Dear me, how I smile to myself at my confidence! But I am so sure--this feeling would not be in my heart if it had no meaning! I was not meant for this life I am leading. I am not afraid because I have no proof that I am a genius, and no prospect of being one at present. I do not know whether what you have must come as an inspiration direct from God, I do not know whether I am _capable_ of winning any of this life that you are seeking; but I do know this--I’m going to have the chance to try, and you are going to give it to me. Do you suppose I could tell you that I am willing to stay at home and let you leave me?