“Yesterday, after seeing you, I went home and thought out a picture.

“Artists always draw the Saviour as an actor in one of the Gospel stories. I should do differently. I should represent Christ alone⁠—the disciples did leave Him alone occasionally. I should paint one little child left with Him. This child has been playing about near Him, and had probably just been telling the Saviour something in its pretty baby prattle. Christ had listened to it, but was now musing⁠—one hand reposing on the child’s bright head. His eyes have a faraway expression. Thought, great as the Universe, is in them⁠—His face is sad. The little one leans its elbow upon Christ’s knee, and with its cheek resting on its hand, gazes up at Him, pondering as children sometimes do ponder. The sun is setting. There you have my picture.

“You are innocent⁠—and in your innocence lies all your perfection⁠—oh, remember that! What is my passion to you?⁠—you are mine now; I shall be near you all my life⁠—I shall not live long!”

At length, in the last letter of all, he found: