Monday Night.
I have just received your kind and rational letter, and would fain hide
my face, glowing with shame for my folly. I would hide it in your bosom,
if you would again open it to me, and nestle closely till you bade my
fluttering heart be still, by saying that you forgave me. With eyes
overflowing with tears, and in the humblest attitude, I intreat you. Do
not turn from me, for indeed I love you fondly, and have been very
wretched, since the night I was so cruelly hurt by thinking that you had
no confidence in me—
It is time for me to grow more reasonable, a few more of these caprices
of sensibility would destroy me. I have, in fact, been very much
indisposed for a few days past, and the notion that I was tormenting, or
perhaps killing, a poor little animal, about whom I am grown anxious and
tender, now I feel it alive, made me worse. My bowels have been
dreadfully disordered, and every thing I ate or drank disagreed with my
stomach; still I feel intimations of its existence, though they have
been fainter.
Do you think that the creature goes regularly to sleep? I am ready to
ask as many questions as Voltaire’s Man of Forty Crowns. Ah! do not
continue to be angry with me! You perceive that I am already smiling
through my tears—You have lightened my heart, and my frozen spirits are
melting into playfulness.
Write the moment you receive this. I shall count the minutes. But drop
not an angry word, I cannot now bear it. Yet, if you think I deserve a
scolding (it does not admit of a question, I grant), wait till you come
back—and then, if you are angry one day, I shall be sure of seeing you
the next.
—— —— did not write to you, I suppose, because he talked of going to
H——. Hearing that I was ill, he called very kindly on me, not dreaming
that it was some words that he incautiously let fall, which rendered me
so.
God bless you, my love; do not shut your heart against a return of
tenderness; and, as I now in fancy cling to you, be more than ever my
support. Feel but as affectionate when you read this letter, as I did
writing it, and you will make happy, your
* * * *