The Interim

I waited and waited and longed for the hour and the arrival of your letter. I pressed my lips to its address without knowing what lay within. I thought of you imagining me in the depths of despair as a result of my marriage and my expectation. I prayed that you might be inconsolable at the news and yet when I DO read it, I discover that your mind is pacified? Does my condition leave you calm and at rest? You sleep well on the receipt of my news? You wish, in between some benign remarks about my latest composition, that my nights be happy? What does this mean? That I lie beside my husband as a spoon, though the lying is done well enough? I despair of ever recovering a peace of mind now I know yours is in such a state that you sleep like a babe! I try hard not to admit how much passion I still feel for you, (and which once you felt for me). I must suppose they are in unequal parts. You advise me to rest on the sofa when I am not watching the children climbing trees, but I cannot tell you that I dare not, or that the moment I am left to my own thoughts they are entirely of you. Dear Jakob, I will not write to you by post and you will never know that I confide my baser thoughts each day to my silent, literary confidante. N.