University of Virginia Library

October 12.—

How the scene is changed, my Sister! What a melancholy reverse is here, to my late prospect of domestic happiness! I pass my nights in tears and bitter reflections on my dismal situation. My days are spent in a painful constraint, to conceal the anguish of my own heart, that I may not aggravate that of my poor mother. My endeavours to be chearful, I perceive, have a good effect on her: she

is much more composed, and seems resigned to our fate, patiently waiting for a change. I think too she is rather better in her health; she has had the advice of a physician of eminent skill; the medicines prescribed, he gives us hopes, will keep her disorder at least from gaining ground; and that she may hold out for some years.

I have prevailed on her not to give Sir George an account of my unhappy story, till I hear that Mr. Faulkland has left him; because I know my brother would conceal nothing from him; and, if possible, I would have Mr. Arnold's suspicions of Him concealed. I have many reasons for this; my own delicacy would receive a wound by it; for who knows what judgment Mr. Faulkland might form on this knowledge? But my most material objection is, should he attempt to vindicate his own honour, what might be the consequence! I shudder to think of it. I know Mr. Faulkland is rash, when provoked. Rather let my sufferings and my disgrace lie wrapped in oblivion, than bring any disaster on the father of my children.