The letter ran thus:—­

“My Own Innocent!—­I am married.  We leave England to-day.  I must not love you too much, for I have all my love to give to my Edward, my own now, and I am his trustingly for ever.  But he will let me give you some of it—­and Rhoda is never jealous.  She shall have a great deal.  Only I am frightened when I think how immense my love is for him, so that anything—­everything he thinks right is right to me.  I am not afraid to think so.  If I were to try, a cloud would come over me—­it does, if only I fancy for half a moment I am rash, and a straw.  I cannot exist except through him.  So I must belong to him, and his will is my law.  My prayer at my bedside every night is that I may die for him.  We used to think the idea of death so terrible!  Do you remember how we used to shudder together at night when we thought of people lying in the grave?  And now, when I think that perhaps I may some day die for him, I feel like a crying in my heart with joy.

“I have left a letter—­sent it, I mean—­enclosed to uncle for father.  He will see Edward by-and-by.  Oh! may heaven spare him from any grief.  Rhoda will comfort him.  Tell him how devoted I am.  I am like drowned to everybody but one.

“We are looking on the sea.  In half an hour I shall have forgotten the tread of English earth.  I do not know that I breathe.  All I know is a fear that I am flying, and my strength will not continue.  That is when I am not touching his hand.  There is France opposite.  I shut my eyes and see the whole country, but it is like what I feel for Edward—­all in dark moonlight.  Oh!  I trust him so!  I bleed for him.  I could make all my veins bleed out at a sad thought about him.  And from France to Switzerland and Italy.  The sea sparkles just as if it said “Come to the sun;” and I am going.  Edward calls.  Shall I be punished for so much happiness?  I am too happy, I am too happy.

“God bless my beloved at home!  That is my chief prayer now.  I shall think of her when I am in the cathedrals.

“Oh, my Father in heaven! bless them all! bless Rhoda! forgive me!

“I can hear the steam of the steamer at the pier.  Here is Edward.  He says I may send his love to you.

“Address:—­

          “Mrs. Edward Ayrton,
               “Poste Restante,
                    “Lausanne,
                         “Switzerland.

“P.S.—­Lausanne is where—­but another time, and I will always tell you the history of the places to instruct you, poor heart in dull England.  Adieu!  Good-bye and God bless my innocent at home, my dear sister.  I love her.  I never can forget her.  The day is so lovely.  It seems on purpose for us.  Be sure you write on thin paper to Lausanne.  It is on a blue lake; you see snow mountains, and now there is a bell ringing—­ kisses from me! we start.  I must sign.

“Dahlia.”