But I’ll have none of her forgiveness! My own heart tells me I do not deserve it; and I cannot bear it!—And what is it but a mere verbal forgiveness, as ostentatiously as cruelly given with a view to magnify herself, and wound me deeper! A little, dear, specious—but let me stop —lest I blaspheme!
Reading over the above, I am ashamed of my ramblings; but what wouldest have me do?—Seest thou not that I am but seeking to run out of myself, in hope to lose myself; yet, that I am unable to do either?
If ever thou lovedst but half so fervently as I love—but of that thy heavy soul is not capable.
Send me word by the next, I conjure thee, in the names of all her kindred saints and angels, that she is living, and likely to live!—If thou sendest ill news, thou wilt be answerable for the consequences, whether it be fatal to the messenger, or to
Mr. Belford, to Robert Lovelace,
Wednesday, eleven o’clock.
Dr. H. has just been here. He tarried with me till the minister had done praying by the lady; and then we were both admitted. Mr. Goddard, who came while the doctor and the clergyman were with her, went away with them when they went. They took a solemn and everlasting leave of her, as I have no scruple to say; blessing her, and being blessed by her; and wishing (when it came to be their lot) for an exit as happy as her’s is likely to be.
She had again earnestly requested of the doctor his opinion how long it was now probable that she could continue; and he told her, that he apprehended she would hardly see to-morrow night. She said, she should number the hours with greater pleasure than ever she numbered any in her life on the most joyful occasion.
How unlike poor Belton’s last hours her’s! See the infinite differences in the effects, on the same awful and affecting occasion, between a good and a bad conscience!
This moment a man is come from Miss Howe with a letter. Perhaps I shall be able to send you the contents.
She endeavoured several times with earnestness, but in vain, to read the letter of her dear friend. The writing, she said, was too fine for her grosser sight, and the lines staggered under her eye. And indeed she trembled so, she could not hold the paper; and at last desired Mrs. Lovick to read it to her, the messenger waiting for an answer.
Thou wilt see in Miss Howe’s letter, how different the expression of the same impatience, and passionate love, is, when dictated by the gentler mind of a woman, from that which results from a mind so boisterous and knotty as thine. For Mrs. Lovick will transcribe it, and I shall send it—to be read in this place, if thou wilt.