But I won't bother you; only your letters will make me so happy.

I shall be so proud when they come to me.

I shall be afraid of writing too much to you, for fear I should tire you." "You will never do that." "Shall I not?
But you must write first, you know.

If you could only understand how I shall live upon your letters! And now good-bye.
There are the wheels.

God bless you, my own, my own!" And she gave herself up into his arms, as she had given herself up into his heart.
She stood at the door as the two men got into the gig, and, as it passed down through the gate, she hurried out upon the terrace, from whence she could see it for a few yards down the lane.