We have just heard that you are exceedingly ill. We all loved you as
never young creature was loved: you are sensible of that, sister Clary.
And you have been very naughty--but we could not be angry always.
We are indeed more afflicted with the news of your being so very ill than
I can express; for I see not but, after this separation, (as we
understand that your misfortune has been greater than your fault, and
that, however unhappy, you have demeaned yourself like the good young
creature you used to be,) we shall love you better, if possible, than
ever.
Take comfort, therefore, sister Clary, and don't be too much cast down
--whatever your mortifications may be from such noble prospects
over-clouded, and from the reflections you will have from within, on your
faulty step, and from the sullying of such a charming character by it,
you will receive none from any of us; and, as an earnest of your papa's
and mamma's favour and reconciliation, they assure you by me of their
blessing and hourly prayers.
If it will be any comfort to you, and my mother finds this letter is
received as we expect, (which we shall know by the good effect it will
have upon your health,) she will herself go to town to you. Mean-time,
the good woman you so dearly love will be hastened up to you; and she
writes by this opportunity, to acquaint you of it, and of all our
returning love.
I hope you will rejoice at this good news. Pray let us hear that you do.
Your next grateful letter on this occasion, especially if it gives us the
pleasure of hearing you are better upon this news, will be received with
the same (if not greater) delight, than we used to have in all your
prettily-penn'd epistles. Adieu, my dear Clary! I am,
Your loving sister, and true friend,
ARABELLA HARLOWE.