Letter XLV

"Should one not make great concessions to great grief even when it is
unreasonable?" I cannot answer, dearest: I am in the dark. Great grief
cannot be great without reasons: it should give them, and you should judge
by them:--you, not I. I imagine you have again been face to face with
fierce, unexplained opposition. Dearest, if it would give you happiness, I
would say, make five, ten, twenty years' "concession," as you call it. But
the only time you ever spoke to me clearly about your mother's mind toward
me, you said she wanted an absolute surrender from you, not covered only
by her lifetime. Then though I pitied her, I had to smile. A twenty years'
concession even would not give rest to her perturbed spirit. I pray
truly--having so much reason for your sake to pray it--"God rest her soul!
and give her a saner mind toward both of us."

Why has this come about at all? It is not February yet: and our plans
have been putting forth no buds before their time. When the day comes,
and you have said the inevitable word, I think more calm will follow
than you expect. You, dearest, I do understand: and the instinct of
tenderness you have toward a claim which yet fills you with the sense of
its injustice. I know that you can laugh at her threat to make you poor;
but not at hurting her affections. Did your asking for an "answer" mean
that I was to write so openly? Bless you, my own dearest.