You ſay, I muſt decide for myſelf.—I had decided, that it was moſt for the intereſt of my little girl, and for my own comfort, little as I expect, for us to live together; and I even thought that you would be glad, ſome years hence, when the tumult of buſineſs was over, to repoſe in the ſociety of an affectionate friend, and mark the progreſs of our intereſting child, whilſt endeavouring to be of uſe in the circle you at laſt reſolved to reſt in; for you cannot run about for ever.
From the tenour of your laſt letter however, I am led to imagine, that you have formed ſome new attachment.—If it be ſo, let me earneſtly requeſt you to ſee me once more, and immediately. This is the only proof I require of the friendſhip you profeſs for me. I will then decide, ſince you boggle about a mere form.
I am labouring to write with calmneſs—but the extreme anguiſh I feel, at landing without having any friend to receive me, and even to be conſcious that the friend whom I moſt wiſh to ſee, will feel a diſagreeable ſenſation at being informed of my arrival, does not come under the deſcription of common miſery. Every emotion yields to an overwhelming flood of ſorrow—and the playfulneſs of my child diſtreſſes me.—On her account, I wiſhed to remain a few days here, comfortleſs as is my ſituation.—Beſides, I did not wiſh to ſurpriſe you. You have told me, that you would make any ſacrifice to promote my happineſs—and, even in your laſt unkind letter, you talk of the ties which bind you to me and my child.—Tell me, that you wiſh it, and I will cut this Gordian knot.
I now moſt earneſtly intreat you to write to me, without fail, by the return of the poſt. Direct your letter to be left at the poſt-office, and tell me whether you will come to me here, or where you will meet me. I can receive your letter on Wedneſday morning.
Do not keep me in ſuſpenſe.—I expect nothing from you, or any human being: my die is caſt!—I have fortitude enough to determine to do my duty; yet I cannot raiſe my depreſſed ſpirits, or calm my trembling heart.—That being who moulded it thus, knows that I am unable to tear up by the roots the propenſity to affection which has been the torment of my life—but life will have an end!
Should you come here (a few months ago I could not have doubted it) you will find me at ———. If you prefer meeting me on the road, tell me where.
Yours affectionately
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