Mr Barrett's Secret and Other Stories [antikvár]

Mr Barrett's Secret I It must have been in the January or February of the year 1845 that I first became aware of the connection of Elizabeth, my first child and eldest daughter, with the man Robert Browning. Had I had the least intimation of what was to follow, I should have forbidden its continuance in any form, and have prosecuted my interdiction with unswerving tenacity. Nevertheless, full knowledge of the future that awaited Elizabeth and myself would surely have led me to bless that divine provision whereby it is not given to us to see as far as the next tick of the clock. A letter, addressed to Elizabeth in a strange hand, arrived by the early morning dehvery at my house at 50 Wimpole Street, a circumstance in itself very far from unusual. More especially since the publication by Moxon of her Poems in two volumes the preceding August, my dearest Ba (to use her family pet-name) had grown used to receiving correspondence from persons unacquainted with her. Many came from America and other distant parts of the world; the letter in question had been posted in London. In characterising just now the style of the writing on the envelope, I used the word 'strange^ advisedly. It was not only unfamihar to me; it was pecuhar, extraordinary, odd. And yet in its very singularity there was a principle I seemed to recognise from some distant part of my life, 1