How kindly, my beloved Mrs. Norton, do you soothe the anguish of a
bleeding heart! Surely you are mine own mother; and, by some
unaccountable mistake, I must have been laid to a family that, having
newly found out, or at least suspected, the imposture, cast me from
their hearts, with the indignation that such a discovery will warrant.
Oh! that I had been indeed your own child, born to partake of your
humble fortunes, an heiress only to that content in which you are so
happy! then should I have had a truly gentle spirit to have guided my
ductile heart, which force and ungenerous usage sit so ill upon: and
nothing of what has happened would have been.
But let me take heed that I enlarge not, by impatience, the breach
already made in my duty by my rashness! since, had I not erred, my
mother, at least, could never have been thought hard-hearted and
unforgiving. Am I not then answerable, not only for my own faults, but
for the consequences of them; which tend to depreciate and bring
disgrace upon a maternal character never before called in question?
It is kind, however, in you to endeavour to extenuate the faults of one
so greatly sensible of it: and could it be wiped off entirely, it would
render me more worthy of the pains you have taken in my education: for
it must add to your grief, as it does to my confusion, that, after such
promising beginnings, I should have so behaved as to be a disgrace
instead of a credit to you and my other friends.
But that I may not make you think me more guilty than I am, give me
leave briefly to assure you, that, when my story is known, I shall be
to more compassion than blame, even on the score of going away with Mr.
Lovelace.
As to all that happened afterwards, let me only say, that although I
must call myself a lost creature as to this world, yet have I this
consolation left me, that I have not suffered either for want of
circumspection, or through careful credulity or weakness. Not one
moment was I off my guard, or unmindful of your early precepts. But
(having been enabled to baffle many base contrivances) I was at last
ruined by arts the most inhuman. But had I not been rejected by every
friend, this low-hearted man had not dared, nor would have had
opportunity, to treat me as he has treated me.
More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you to
keep to yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone,
that may spread the evil which I hope will end with me.
I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being at
my uncle Harlowe’s. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brother
and Mr. Solmes—Astonishing!—What complicated wickedness has this
wretched man to answer for!—Were I to tell you, you would hardly
believe that there could have been such a heart in man.—
But one day you may know the whole story!—At present I have neither
inclination nor words—O my bursting heart!—Yet a happy, a wished
relief!—Were you present my tears would supply the rest!