Letters of Two Brides

Never should your heart be freer than mine. If you know nothing of the

torture that a single stab of doubt brings to the soul, tremble lest I

give you a lesson! In a single glance I confided my heart to you, and you read the

meaning. The purest feelings that ever took root in a young girl's

breast are yours. The thought and meditation of which I have told you

served only to enrich the mind; but if ever the wounded heart turns to

the brain for counsel, be sure the young girl would show some kinship

with the demon of knowledge and of daring.

I swear to you, Felipe, if you love me, as I believe you do and if I

have reason to suspect the least falling off in the fear, obedience,

and respect which you have hitherto professed, if the pure flame of

passion which first kindled the fire of my heart should seem to me any

day to burn less vividly, you need fear no reproaches. I would not

weary you with letters bearing any trace of weakness, pride, or anger,

nor even with one of warning like this. But if I spoke no words,

Felipe, my face would tell you that death was near. And yet I should

not die till I had branded you with infamy, and sown eternal sorrow in

your heart; you would see the girl you loved dishonored and lost in

this world, and know her doomed to everlasting suffering in the next.

Do not therefore, I implore you, give me cause to envy the old, happy

Louise, the object of your pure worship, whose heart expanded in the

sunshine of happiness, since, in the words of Dante, she possessed, Senza brama, sicura ricchezza! I have searched the Inferno through to find the most terrible

punishment, some torture of the mind to which I might link the

vengeance of God.

Yesterday, as I watched you, doubt went through me like a sharp, cold

dagger's point. Do you know what that means? I mistrusted you, and the

pang was so terrible, I could not endure it longer. If my service be

too hard, leave it, I would not keep you. Do I need any proof of your

cleverness? Keep for me the flowers of your wit. Show to others no

fine surface to call forth flattery, compliments, or praise. Come to

me, laden with hatred or scorn, the butt of calumny, come to me with

the news that women flout you and ignore you, and not one loves you;

then, ah! then you will know the treasures of Louise's heart and love.