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Randolph

a novel
  

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SARAH TO RANDOLPH.
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SARAH TO RANDOLPH.

I am afraid to think of your countenance, Randolph,
when you shall see this direction. And still more, when
I reflect on the cause. You have courage—you are resentful.
Are you great? Are you magnanimous? Tell
me the plain truth. Can you forgive? If yea, I have a
secret to communicate. If no, let me understand it, distinctly;
for there has never been a trial for you, like
this.

I am unpleasantly situated, and somewhat anxious to
depart. Several persons, whom I know, from the city,


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Page 279
are continually passing under my window; and it is not
five minutes, since all the passengers of the steam-boat,
crossed the street, just within view; and I saw more than
one, that would have risked blood and breath for me—to
avenge an insult—and such an insult! Yet, that is not
what I want. All men are quick enough, too quick, upon
the scent of blood. The weak and pusillanimous never
forgive. They dare not. It is only the truly great, the
magnificent, who can forgive. Are you of them; or of the
dastardly? Did I want blood? No. If I had, mine
own hand could have let it out, upon the floor, at my very
feet. Would I send him, suddenly, before his Maker?
There were twenty arms, within call, ready to do my
bidding. But I am above them all. I want a man that
can forgive—even an insult to me, when he loves me.---
You love me, Randolph. I know it. It is criminal. I
feel it. Now, then, for the trial. Let us atone for our
weakness. I have been utterly---deliberately---shamefully
insulted---outraged---and on thy account. Forgive
the being, that did this to me---and I shall never repent
that I have loved thee. It will consecrate my passion
for thee; make it something holy, spiritual, as I thought
it was. Canst thou? Canst thou, Randolph? O, if
thou canst, I will continue to love thee, as never woman
loved man, till the last breath that I draw; and trust to
my heavenly Father to forgive me. Thou wilt! I feel it.
I feel as if thou wert by me, and had said it. I am alone.
Yet, do not come to me. I cannot bear to meet thee, yet.
Farewell. I shall wait here for an answer.

SARAH RAMSAY.
P. S.—Juliet has sailed, of course. How were her
spirits? Tell me all about it; and unite with me in prayer
for her, and her excellent husband. O, how happy they
will soon be!