The Wings of Icarus | Page 3

like to think of my father out here in
the open, dreaming his young dreams. Indoors in the old house I am
often miserable, with a misery beyond my own, remembering how he

suffered once between those walls.
No, I am not really in good spirits, although there comes now and again
a little gust of light-heartedness. You know me. For the rest, I hate
myself, I am a worm. The empire of myself is lost; I am sitting low on
the ground, where my troubles laid me, letting what may run over me. I
hate myself both for my abject hopelessness and for my incapacity to
take comfort at the hands of those about me. But oh! the deadliness of
their life is past description; they have neither breadth nor health in
their thoughts. I am not speaking of the old women; their lives are at an
end; they sit as little children there, simple of heart; what they were I
ask not, nor boots it now, for their day is done. But George Fletcher
and his family, and my various more distant relatives, and my
neighbours far and near--oh, I shall never be able to live here! Believe
me; you will soon see me back. Good people, mind you, one and all,
according to their lights; God-fearing, law-abiding, nothing questioning,
one and all. I shall soon expect to see the earth stand still and roll
backwards. Yes; there they trot upon life's highway, chained together,
dragging each other along; not one of them dares stop to pick a flower
lest the others should tread on his fingers and toes. And they are so
swaddled up in customs and conventions, baby-learned forms of speech
and bearing, that there is nothing to be seen of the real man and woman;
indeed, I cannot say that I have yet found a mummy worth unrolling.
Yesterday a kind of cousin brought her children to see me. There was a
small girl who had already learned, poor wretch, to play her little part,
to quell the impulses of her young heart, to tune her tongue to a given
pitch. She sat on the edge of her chair, feigning indifference to
everything, from Chinese chessmen to gingerbread-nuts; it was a
positive relief to me when her younger brother, who has not yet learned
the most necessary falsehoods, yelled lustily and smashed a tea-cup. I
should have been glad to do both myself.
I must unpack my books. A Broadwood is on its way from London; in
a few days I hope to have made unto myself some kind of oasis in this
desert. I have taken possession of the two rooms on the topmost floor
that were my father's nurseries; and there, with my things about me, I
mean to be happy against all odds.

Good-bye for to-day. Do you remember this morning a fortnight ago? It
might be last year--it might be yesterday! How strange is the beat of
Time's wings!
Your EMILIA.

LETTER IV.
GRAYSMILL, August 2d.
Now that's the kind of letter I like to have! Only my heart sickens for
thee. At each word I hear your voice; at every pause, the little ripples
that run away with it so sweetly. I cannot even find it in me to scold
you for your many follies. Young woman, I don't approve of you, but
you are the sweetest creature that ever walked this earth. Thanks be
where thanks are due that I am a woman; you would have been my
bane had I been born a man!
But, to be serious, I have been thinking things out; you must leave your
mother, Constance, and come to me. You have lived this kind of life
long enough; and--believe me, my dearest--you are not strong enough
to bear it longer unharmed.
Shall I be a little cruel to you? Well, my own, I think that if you looked
into your heart, searchingly and truly, as you always declare you know
not how, you would find that it is more cowardice than duty binds you
to Mrs. Rayner. She bore you, you say, she brought you up--Good Lord!
and how! If you were not a pearl among women, what would you be by
this time? No, you know as well as I do that it is cowardice, not duty,
prevents you from taking this step.
I shall never forget what you said to me once, when first I knew you; it
was in Florence, and we were leaning out of window in my room. I
remember it the better because it was during this conversation that I
ventured to put my arm round your waist for the first time.
"Now I call this pleasant!" you said. "Here am I looking out of window

with a nice