Never Inconstant

by Lyndsay Constable

A hard heart makes all charms wither, like a winter wind curling under the browning leaves of a rose.

I was glad, at least, that I had been fortunate enough to possess the fortitude to survive. That was about all I could claim of that time—that I survived.

Such kindred spirits were we that time and the distance of half the globe did nothing to dampen our love.

My heart, torn asunder once, barely stitched back together after almost a year at sea, could not survive if you were to reject me a second time. I would die. I cannot risk it, ever, even for your sake, dearest Anne. Forgive me for my cowardice.