MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
FRIDAY, AUG. 11.
It is a cruel alternative to be either forced to see you, or to write to
you. But a will of my own has been long denied me; and to avoid a
greater evil, nay, now I may say, the greatest, I write.
Were I capable of disguising or concealing my real sentiments, I might
safely, I dare say, give you the remote hope you request, and yet keep
all my resolutions. But I must tell you, Sir, (it becomes my character
to tell you, that, were I to live more years than perhaps I may weeks,
and there were not another man in the world, I could not, I would not, be
your's.
There is no merit in performing a duty.
Religion enjoins me not only to forgive injuries, but to return good for
evil. It is all my consolation, and I bless God for giving me that, that
I am now in such a state of mind, with regard to you, that I can
cheerfully obey its dictates. And accordingly I tell you, that, wherever
you go, I wish you happy. And in this I mean to include every good wish.
And now having, with great reluctance I own, complied with one of your
compulsatory alternatives, I expect the fruits of it.