University of Virginia Library

LETTER XI.
ANNE TO ELENOR.

I PURSUE my subject. Suppose Mr. Romain
again speaking. “Last night, madam, I was
fatally convinced, all my suspicions were just;
suffer me to remain silent concerning the scene
to which I was an excruciating witness. I rushed
into the room, with a horsewhip in my hand,
(for I had rode from town,) and made the dishonorable
reptile feel its lash pretty severely.
It is my firm resolution never to live with my
lost Jessey again; but I will not expose her to
the world. I will not drive her from me, and by
so doing, plunge her into the abyss of shame and
infamy; I am resolved to protect her against her
will. I have feared, and I am now convinced,
that a living witness of her defection will appear.
But my friends in France will know nothing of
what has passed, and I will place her in the convent
at St. Omer's, where my sister has been
from choice many years a boarder; here she may
remain until the unfortunate little being sees the
light. I will then consider what is best to be
done. I shall leave this place, and if possible,
England, this very day; aud must request you to
see to the packing of the plate, linen, &c. in
order to their being sent after us. I shall empower
a person to sell the furniture, and remit

me the proceeds. I think it will be best not to
take any of our present domestics, as they are
but too well acquainted with Jessey's frailty; I
have sent to the inn for a post chaise, and must
beg you to go and prepare the unhappy woman
for her removal.”

My aunt returned to Mrs. Romain; she found
her awake and rising. It was an awkward task
to inform her of her husband's resolution. She
stood with her face from my aunt while she was
speaking; but when she found she was silent,
she turned and thus addressed: “I am obliged
to you, madam, for the trouble you have taken;
I understand you have been in the house all night;
and I have no doubt but it is to your advice I owe
this hastly determination of Mr. Romain. I
must confess I think you have been unnecessarily
officious, and must beg the few moments I have
to tarry in my house, I may remain unmolested.”

As she was speaking, the chaise drove up to
the door, and Mr. Romain entered the room.
“Come, madam,” said he to his wife in a solemn
voice, “give orders to your servant to pack up a
change of clothes, and do you prepare yourself
for a journey; breakfast is ready in the parlor;
take from your drawers what you want, and
then deliver your keys to this lady, who will take
care that every thing is sent after you.” “Sir,”
said she in a haughty tone, “I do not choose that
any stranger should have the liberty of examining
my drawers.” “If, madam,” he replied, in a firm
and pointed manner, “you have any thing is

them you are afraid or ashamed of having seen,
it were best you removed or destroyed it before
you went away; but I desire you to be quick, as
I must depart within the hour.” She colored;
a few tears forced themselves down her cheeks;
while in an unsteady voice, she begged to be left
alone ten minutes; her request was complied
with; she then came down stairs, with a forced
appearance of composure, habited ready for her
journey. She drank a cup of chocolate with
difficulty; and, when her husband inquired if she
was ready to go, arose from her seat, saying,
“No—neither ready nor willing; but it is your
pleasure, and I must obey.” She trembled so,
she could scarcely stand; the color left her
cheeks, and it was with unequal steps, and a
bosom that throbbed almost to suffocation, that
she seated herself in the chaise. Mr. Romain
drew up the glasses; and a few hours took her
out of England; to which, had she been prudent,
she would never have returned. These circumstances,
being made known to me, when it was
too late to prevent Sarah from forming a connexion
which, I greatly fear, will prove the ruin
of her peace, I thought best not to mention them;
nor have I, since my return, permitted her to
think I am in the least acquainted with any circumstance
concerning Mrs. Romain. But I am
determined to keep a strict eye upon her, and if
I see her laying any plans to regain her ascendancy
over Darnley, I shall speak my mind both
to him and her, in a manner that will not be very
pleasing.

Mrs. Darnley, at present, seems inclined to
think all the reports which she has heard, were
groundless. Jessey, (as I shall henceforth call
her,) is a specious woman; very insinuating in
her manner; and my dear Sarah, with all her
good sense, is very credulous, and open to deception;
but I do earnestly hope that the film
will not fall from her eyes on this occasion; for
what situation in life is more mortifying, than
that of a neglected wife? A knowledge of
treachery on the part of her husband, would
awaken all her resentment. I know her, she
would never reproach him; she would never consider
his breach of duty as an apology for any
failure of her own. She would continue immoveable
in the path of rectitude; but such an exertion
would cause her many bitter tears; and her
sufferings would be more poignant, because she
would conceal them in her own bosom, and wear
the mask of serenity over a lacerated heart. I
shall let you know what discoveries I make; I
shall not be inquisitively prying, but I shall observe
and draw conclusions from those observations,
not to gratify any impertinent curiosity, but
in order to guard the peace of the invaluable
Sarah.

London, at this period, is not very pleasant;
Darnley talks of taking a lodging at Islington;
I think I see through his plans; his wife acquiesces
in all that he proposes; she is pleased with

the idea of being in the country—I hope it will,
in the end, contribute to her felicity; but I
greatly fear it will not. One remark I have
made since my return is, that Darnley lives very
freely, and has a number of men always after
him, who look like professed gamblers; they
are ill bred, and by no means society fit for his
delicate, gentle wife. Adieu.