REPLY.
At first, I had a great mind to return your letter; and
then, I had almost resolved, when I looked at the conclusion,
to send it back, reduced to ashes; with a denial
of your request; and a farewell, that you should remember
to your dying day. But I put it by, for an hour, till
the tears were dry in my eyes—and the blisters upon the
paper—and the heat had escaped from my heart. It
was very cruel, John—but I forgive you.
I have been interrupted—but you have my consent to
bring Mr. Molton to me, this evening. I hope that I
have wronged him. I sincerely hope it. Convince me
that I have, and I will embrace his knees. But, how
am I to be convinced? There is no power on earth to
do it. Still I shall submit to his presence, hateful as the
thought is, rather than—John, my forehead crimsons.
What should I be afraid of? What should Randolph be
afraid of? I would not have a quarrel here—nay, I will
not. I have taken care to provide for that. But, be not
too sanguine of the result. Something has happened,
which, if you knew it, would make you a little less anxious
for the meeting, I apprehend, even on his account,
than you are, now. Yes, sir—bring this redoubtable
Molton forward. I am ready for the trial—another is
as ready as myself. Let us see who quails in it.
One word more, cousin. You would have me a hypocrite—a
changeling. I cannot be one. My temper is
constancy. I am not prone to take impressions, indentures,
or curvatures, either toward or against my kind,
easily; but, once taken, they are not
easily obliterated.
“What are his crimes?”
Can you ask me? An uninterrupted
course of profligacy and blood. No more.—
How a man, and still less a woman—a woman, too,
like the blessed Juliet—should be so infatuated with the
stern, unrelenting character of such a man, is inconceivable
to me. But, bring him, cousin;—bring him
along—the sooner the better—and we shall then see who
skulks away from the trial; when the lists are opened,
and the judgment seat unveiled; with the look of greatest
horrour and affright.
