1848
My own dear Abiah,
For so I will still call you, though while I do it, even
now I tremble at my strange audacity, and almost wish I had been a little more
humble not quite so presuming.
Six long months have tried hard to make us strangers, but
I love you better than ever notwithstanding the link which bound us in that
golden chain is sadly dimmed, I feel more reluctant to lose you from that
bright circle, whom I've called my friends. I mailed a
long letter to you the 1st of March, & patiently have I waited a
reply, but none has yet cheered me.
Slowly, very slowly, I came to the conclusion that you
had forgotten me, & so I tried very hard to forget you, but your image
still haunts me, and tantalizes me with fond recollections. At our Holyoke
Anniversary, I caught one glimpse of your face, & fondly anticipated an
interview with you, & a reason for your silence, but when I thought to find
you search was vain, for the "bird had flown." Sometimes, I think it was a
fancy, think I did not really see my old friend, but her spirit, then your well
known voice tells me it was no spirit, but
yourself, living, that stood within that crowded hall & spoke to me— Why did
you not come back that day, and tell me what had sealed your lips toward me? Did
my letter never reach you, or did you coolly decide to love me, & to write
to me no more? If you love me, & never received my letter—then may you
think yourself wronged, and that rightly, but if you dont want to be my friend
any longer, say so, & I'll try once more to blot you from my memory. Tell
me very soon, for suspense is intolerable. I need not tell you, this is from,
Emilie.