Letter 1
_ LETTER I
FLETCHER‘S HALL, GRAYSMILL,
July 18th.
Dear and Beloved Constance,--What shall I say to you? Here I sit, in a strange room, in a strange land,--and my life lies behind me. It is close upon midnight, and very dark. I can see nothing out of window. The air is hot and heavy, the moths flutter round my candle； I cannot save them all. I am trying to write you a letter--do you understand? Oh, but I have no thoughts, only visions! Three there are that rise before me, sometimes separately, sometimes all together.
I see you, Mrs. Norris. We are standing on the platform, side by side； people leaning out of window in my night-gown, watching the mists rise in the valley. The air is very sweet here in England； I see oceans of trees, great stretches of heath and meadow. Surely, surely one ought to be happy in this beautiful world! I shall dress quickly and go out. This letter, such as it is, shall go to you by the first post, and to-night I shall write agai

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