But in a
mother's worship she may not see that the Will in her son should not
always be offered incense along with the angel. I grow sick with fear
for you--for both you and me--when I think how the Will against us two
has grown strong through the love you have given the angel--and how
long your own sweet Will has served that other. Are you strong
enough, Isabel? Can you make the fight? I promise you that if you
will take heart for it, you will find so quickly that it has all
amounted to nothing. You shall have happiness, and, in a little
while, only happiness. You need only to write me a line--I can't come
to your house--and tell me where you will meet me. We will come back
in a month, and the angel in your son will bring him to you; I promise
it. What is good in him will grow so fine, once you have beaten the
turbulent Will--but it must be beaten!
Your brother, that good friend, is waiting with such patience; I
should not keep him longer--and I am saying too much for wisdom, I
fear. But, oh, my dear, won't you be strong--such a little short
strength it would need! Don't strike my life down twice, dear--this
time I've not deserved it.
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