Imlay, whose departure to his other house Mary construed into abandonment of her, made, in spite of this letter, many inquiries as to her health and tranquillity, repeated his offers of pecuniary assistance, and, at the request of mutual acquaintances, even went to see her. But a show of interest was not what she wanted, and her thanks for it was the assurance that before long she would be where he would be saved the trouble of either talking or thinking of her. Fortunately Mr. Johnson and her other friends interfered actively in her behalf, and by their arguments and representations prevailed upon her to relinquish the idea of suicide. Through their kindness, the fever which consumed her was somewhat abated. Her temporary madness over, she again remembered her responsibility as a mother, and realized that true courage consists in facing a foe, and not in flying from it. Of the change in her intentions for the future she informed Imlay:—
Mr. Johnson having forgot to desire you to send the things of mine which were left at the house, I have to request you to let Marguerite bring them to me.
I shall go this evening to the lodging; so you need not be restrained from coming here to transact your business. And whatever I may think and feel, you need not fear that I shall publicly complain. No! If I have any criterion to judge of right and wrong, I have been most ungenerously treated; but wishing now only to hide myself, I shall be silent as the grave in which I long to forget myself. I shall protect and provide for my child. I only mean by this to say that you have nothing to fear from my desperation.
Farewell.
Godwin makes the incredible statement that Imlay refusing to break off his new connection, though he declared it to be of a temporary nature, Mary proposed that she should live in the same house with his mistress. In this way he would not be separated from his child, and she would quietly wait the end of his intrigue. Imlay, according to Godwin, consented to her suggestion, but afterwards thought better of it and refused. There is not a word in her letters to confirm this extraordinary story. It is simply impossible that at one moment she should have been driven to suicide by the knowledge that he had a mistress, and that at the next she should take a step which was equivalent to countenancing his conduct. It is more rational to conclude that Godwin was misinformed, than to believe this.
Towards the end of November Imlay went to Paris with the woman for whom he had sacrificed wife and child. Mary felt that the end had now really come, as is seen in the few letters which still remain. Once the first bitterness of her disappointment had been mastered, the old tenderness revived, and she renewed her excuses for him. “My affection for you is rooted in my heart,” she wrote fondly and sadly. “I know you are not what you now seem, nor will you always act and feel as you now do, though I may never be comforted by the change.” And in another letter she said, “Resentment and even anger are momentary emotions with me, and I wish to tell you so, that if you ever think of me, it may not be in the light of an enemy.” Writing to him, however, was more than she could bear. Each letter reopened the wound he had inflicted, and inspired her with a wild desire to see him. She therefore wisely concluded that all correspondence between them must cease. In December, 1795, while he was still in Paris, she bade him her last farewell, though in so doing she was, as she says, piercing her own heart. She refused to hold further communication with him or to receive his money, but she told him she would not interfere in anything he might wish to do for Fanny. Here it may be said that, though Imlay declared that a certain sum should be settled upon the latter, not a cent of it was ever paid. This is Mary’s last letter to him:—
London, December, 1795.
You must do as you please with respect to the child. I could wish that it might be done soon, that my name may be no more mentioned to you. It is now finished. Convinced that you have neither regard nor friendship, I disdain to utter a reproach, though I have had reason to think that the “forbearance” talked of has not been very delicate. It is, however, of no consequence. I am glad you are satisfied with your own conduct.
I now solemnly assure you that this is an eternal farewell. Yet I flinch not from the duties which tie me to life.