October 22.—
With what a tortoise pace
does time advance to the wretched! how
dismal are those hours which are spent in
reflecting on lost happiness! O Faulkland!
how light was thy transgression, if
we consider the consequences, compared
to that which has driven me from my
home, and from my children! steeled my
husband's heart against me, heaped infamy
on
my head, and loaded my mother's
age with sorrow and remorse! All this is
the fatal consequence of Mr. Arnold's
breach of his marriage-vow: all this, and
much more, I fear, that is to come.
We keep ourselves intirely concealed
from the knowlege of all our acquaintance;
not a mortal visits us, but, now-and-then, Miss Burchell; and I have never
stirred out of doors but to church.
