AN ENGLISHWOMAN'S LOVE-LETTERS DELUXE EDITION LOVE-LETTERS 72

Here in my pain, Beloved, I remember keenly now the one or two occasions
when as a small child I was consciously a cause of pain to others. What an
irony of life that once of the two times when I remember to have been
cruel, it was to Arthur, with his small astonished baby-face remaining a
reproach to me ever after! I was hardly five then, and going up to the
nursery from downstairs had my supper-cake in my hand, only a few
mouthfuls left. He had been having his bath, and was sitting up on
Nan-nan's knee being got into his bed clothes; when spying me with my cake
he piped to have a share of it. I dare say it would not have been good for
him, but of that I thought nothing at all: the cruel impulse took me to
make one mouthful of all that was left. He watched it go without crying;
but his eyes opened at me in a strange way, wondering at this sudden
lesson of the hardness of a human heart. "All gone!" was what he said,
turning his head from me up to Nan-nan, to see perhaps if she too had a
like surprise for his wee intelligence. I think I have never forgiven
myself that, though Arthur has no memory of it left in him: the judging
remembrance of it would, I believe, win forgiveness to him for any wrong
he might now do me, if that and not the contrary were his way with me: so
unreasonably is my brain scarred where the thought of it still lies. God
may forgive us our trespasses by marvelous slow ways; but we cannot always
forgive them ourselves.

The other thing came out of a less personal greed, and was years later:
Arthur and I were collecting eggs, and in the loft over one of the
out-houses there was a swallow's nest too high up to be reached by any
ladder we could get up there. I was intent on getting the  eggs , and
thought of no other thing that might chance: so I spread a soft fall
below, and with a long pole I broke the floor of the nest. Then with a
sudden stir of horror I saw soft things falling along with the clay,
tiny and feathery. Two were killed by the breakage that fell with them,
but one was quite alive and unhurt. I gathered up the remnants of the
nest and set it with the young one in it by the loft window where the
parent-birds might see, making clumsy strivings of pity to quiet my
conscience. The parent-birds did see, soon enough: they returned, first
up to the rafters, then darting round and round and crying; then to
where their little one lay helpless and exposed, hung over it with a
nibbling movement of their beaks for a moment, making my miserable heart
bound up with hope: then away, away, shrieking into the July sunshine.
Once they came back, and shrieked at the horror of it all, and fled away
not to return.

I remained for hours and did whatever silly pity could dictate: but of
course the young one died: and I   cleared away all remains that nobody
might see ! And that I gave up egg-collecting after that was no penance,
but choice. Since then the poignancy of my regret when I think of it has
never softened. The question which pride of life and love of make-believe
till then had not raised in me, "Am I a god to kill and to make alive?"
was answered all at once by an emphatic "No," which I never afterward
forgot. But the grief remained all the same, that life, to teach me that
blunt truth, should have had to make sacrifice in the mote-hung loft of
three frail lives on a clay-altar, and bring to nothing but pain and a
last miserable dart away into the bright sunshine the spring work of two
swift-winged intelligences. Is man, we are told to think, not worth many
sparrows? Oh, Beloved, sometimes I doubt it! and would in thought give my
life that those swallows in their generations might live again.

Beloved, I am letting what I have tried to tell you of my childhood end
in a sad way. For it is no use, no use: I have not to-day a glimmer of
hope left that your eyes will ever rest on what I have been at such deep
trouble to write.

If I were being punished for these two childish things I did, I should
see a side of justice in it all. But it is for loving you I am being
punished: and not God himself shall make me let you go! Beloved,
Beloved, all my days are at your feet, and among them days when you held
me to your heart. Good-night; good-night always now!










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