November 4.—
Six melancholy weeks
are gone since I have been here, I may
say, both a prisoner and a fugitive. I
count the days as they pass, as if I expected
some revolution in my fate; yet
whence is it to come? No prospect as yet
opens to me. Mr. Arnold's law-affairs
will soon call him to town: something
may then happen—But does not Mrs.
Gerrarde come too? He cannot live without
her; and I shall reap no benefit from
this, but the chance of seeing my children
sometimes perhaps; though he may
not bring them with him, or, if he does,
he may be cruel enough to refuse me the
sight of them. Sir George is cold and
dilatory: were he on the spot, something
might be done; he might expostulate:
my mother too could join arguments to
intreaties: Mr. Arnold perhaps might
be recovered from his delusion; it is but
a perhaps.
