 | Randolph |  |
FRANK TO SARAH.
Your confidence, cousin, has made a man of me. I
have read the enclosed, in consternation and dismay. If
the sister of Molton be really Helen —, it is highly
have been so long in search. How providential it is—
Can he possibly elude us now? Can you imagine any escape?
Struck by your confidence in me, and ashamed,
heartily ashamed, of that affectation, with which you
charge me, I have attempted to become, at one step,
what you would have me be. But perhaps you would
like a reason for what I have been. It is this—other men
are silent in their humiliation and distress; or else they
complain. I never complain. Thus much of religion
have I--that, to whatever happens, I am resigned. “Whatever
is—is right.” I cannot be silent, when, by constitution
and habit, I am believed to be volatile and noisy;
no—whatever I might be at a fitting opportunity—I
cannot, now, be silent and thoughtful; because I cannot,
and will not, subject myself to the misrepresentation of
the world. I loved—Sarah—as you know, with all my
heart and soul. My object was the happiness of the woman
that I loved. To promote that, I would have sacrificed
myself—and almost my hope of heaven. She discarded
me;—I use no disguise—no concealment to you,
Sarah; because I would have you know my heart truly,
and as it is. She discarded me—cut me adrift. Very
well—I did not complain!... I do not... You knew
her... You knew that she loved me, or, at least, that I
had reason to believe so. Perhaps I was mistaken—
what!—mistaken;—no—by heaven, I was not. She did
love me!—she would have died for me. She--But no—no
matter now. Very well. She discarded me. I felt sorry
for it; chiefly, I do believe, for her sake; not, that I did
not feel---aye, feel to the core of my heart, as if hot lead
had been poured down my throat; but, it was her choice.
I never complain. I only pray that it may prove to have
been wise... I do sometimes pray, Sarah; and when I
do, it is for her. May she be happy—All-righteous God--
fill her pure heart with comfort and consolation!---Make
her happy. May she---never---never--yes, I can say even
that, with sincerity and fervour, may she never repent of
having abandoned me! May she find a truer, nobler heart:
some one that has, at least, all my good qualities, and
none of my bad ones---May she—But no! That
I would not be silent or thoughtful---why I affected a gaiety,
while my very heart was on fire;--why, when all is now
so mortally cold, here---here, Sarah, that no green thing
shall ever sprout here again:—it is, that I may not be
thought broken in heart, or bowed in spirit. No!---let me
die, if it be thy will, O my God---piecemeal. But let not that
woman hear aught, or suspect aught of the cuase, to embitter
her last moments.—No more!---The
theme unmans me. I know not when I have written so
much, or spoken so much, on this subject; but you have
dared to look through my panoply---into my heart;---and
beholding that, have shuddered,---and been just---nevertheless.
I shall not forget it. I have a stubborn spirit;
one that cannot sue for indulgence, but is thankful for
justice; and, while it lives and breathes, will have it—
and will not brook injustice.
I have been unable to pursue your inquiry, as I wished.
The weather has been exceedingly unfavourable,
and all that I can hear is, that Molton and his half sister
are occupying the old mansion at—on the Hill;--that they
have still the same English servant, (but his livery is
changed;)---and have given out that they shall neither
give nor receive visits during the winter. Something is
said about the death of a relation, as an excuse for this;
and the sister has appeared once in black. It has been
supposed, by some, that this solitary, and secluded life,
has been adopted for purposes of economy. But I
have good reason to know better;---my means of information
may be depended upon:--they are confidential and
not to be betrayed, but they are sufficient to justify me in
saying, that economy is the least of their motives, for this
abrupt abandonment of society.
I have heard some whispering to-day, relative to her
deportment at head quarters. The story has gained prodigiously,
and assails me now at every corner, in a multitude
of romantick and wonderful shapes. You shall be kept
informed of all. John is bewitched, I believe. He has forgiven
Molton the trick; for, indeed it deserves no better
name, in getting the house; and has actually been closeted
with him for some hours, and refuses to communicate
with me.
Upon my word!---three whole pages!---the longest letter
that ever I wrote in my life.
| Randolph | |