You will easily imagine the state of grief and despair into which I was plunged by my ill success. I had buoyed myself up with false hopes. I felt quite sure that in a few days I should again clasp you to my heart. Deprived by a cruel fate of such unspeakable happiness, can you wonder at my distraction? While thus frenzied, had I possessed a weapon, I should certainly have put an end to my wretched existence. But I am somewhat calmer now, though still deeply depressed.
Oh! dearest Monica—the one being whom I love best!—I cannot longer endure this enforced separation from you. Never till now did I know how necessary you are to my existence. Pity me! pity me! I am sore afflicted.
Your presence would restore the serenity of mind I once enjoyed, and which I have now utterly lost. Come to me, and shed a gleam of happiness over the residue of my life. In a few days I shall be lodged in a prison, but I shall not heed my confinement if you will visit me daily.
Should the worst fate befall me—as I have sad presentiments that it will—I shall be prepared to meet it, if you are with me at the last. Without you to strengthen me, my courage may fail. I need you, dearest Monica—need you more than ever. Come to me, I implore you!
I am ashamed of what I have written, but you will not despise me for my weakness. 'Tis not imprisonment I dread, but the torture of prolonged separation from you. Did I not love you so passionately I should be as careless as my companions in misfortune. They have little sympathy for me, for they cannot understand my grief. They would laugh at me if I told them I was ever thinking of you. Most of them live jovially enough, and appear entirely unconcerned as to the future. Whether they are really as indifferent as they seem, I much doubt. But they drink hard to drown care. The two Deacons, however, keep aloof from the rest. Colonel Townley, also, is greatly changed. He does not look downcast, but he has become exceedingly serious, and passes his time in long discourses with Father Saunderson, his priest and confessor, who is allowed to attend him. He often talks to me of you and Constance, and hopes that Atherton has been able to embark for France. We have heard nothing of the latter, of course; and in his case no news is good news.
The inhabitants of the different towns and villages through which we have passed on our way to the metropolis have displayed great animosity towards us, chiefly owing to the mischievous placards which have been everywhere spread about by the Government. In these placards the most monstrous charges are brought against us. It is gravely asserted that if we had defeated the Duke of Cumberland we meant to spit him alive and roast him. The bishops were to be burnt at the stake like Ridley and Latimer, and all the Protestant clergy massacred. That such absurd statements should have obtained credence seems impossible; but it is certain they have produced the effect designed, and that the minds of the common folk have been violently inflamed, as we have learnt to our cost, and as we may experience to a still greater extent when we reach London.
Newgate.
You will tremble, dearest Monica, when you learn that I am now immured in that dismal dungeon, the very name of which inspires terror; and yet the prison is not so formidable as it has been represented.
I have a small cell on the master's side, as it is termed, and though the walls are of stone, the little window grated, and the door barred, I have no right to complain. I am far from harshly treated—indeed, every comfort I choose to pay for is allowed me. Nor am I locked up in my cell, except at night.