Gracious God! I shudder, even now, to recall the convulsive sensation! I sunk into a chair—I sat for some time motionless, every faculty seemed suspended. At length, returning to recollection, I wrote a short incoherent note, entreating—
'To be spared another day, another night, like the preceding—I asked only one single line! In the morning I had made up my mind to fortitude—it was now sinking—another day, I could not answer for the consequences.'
Again an interval of suspense—again my messenger returned with a verbal reply—'He would write to-morrow.' Unconsciously, I exclaimed—'Barbarous, unfeeling, unpitying, man!' A burst of tears relieved—no—it did not relieve me. The day passed—I know not how—I dare not recollect.
The next morning, I arose, somewhat refreshed; my exhausted strength and spirits had procured me a few hours of profound slumber. A degree of resentment gave a temporary firmness to my nerves. 'What happiness (I repeated to myself) could I have expected with a man, thus regardless of my feelings?' I composed my spirits—hope was at an end—into a sort of sullen resignation to my fate—a half stupor!
At noon the letter arrived, coldly, confusedly written; methought there appeared even a degree of irritation in it.
'Another, a prior attachment—His behaviour had been such, as necessarily resulted from such an engagement—unavoidable circumstances had prevented an earlier reply.' My swollen heart—but it is enough—'He blamed my impatience—he would, in future, perhaps, when my mind had attained more composure, make some remarks on my letter.'
[11:] Holcraft's Anna St Ives.
CHAPTER VIII
To write had always afforded a temporary relief to my spirits—The next day I resumed my pen.