_[Tonsberg] July 30 [1795]._
I have just received two of your letters, dated the 26th and 30th of
June; and you must have received several from me, informing you of my
detention, and how much I was hurt by your silence.
* * * * *
Write to me then, my friend, and write explicitly. I have suffered, God
knows, since I left you. Ah! you have never felt this kind of sickness of
heart!--My mind however is at present painfully active, and the sympathy I
feel almost rises to agony. But this is not a subject of complaint, it has
afforded me pleasure,--and reflected pleasure is all I have to hope
for--if a spark of hope be yet alive in my forlorn bosom.
I will try to write with a degree of composure. I wish for us to live
together, because I want you to acquire an habitual tenderness for my poor
girl. I cannot bear to think of leaving her alone in the world, or that
she should only be protected by your sense of duty. Next to preserving
her, my most earnest wish is not to disturb your peace. I have nothing to
expect, and little to fear, in life--There are wounds that can never be
healed--but they may be allowed to fester in silence without wincing.
When we meet again, you shall be convinced that I have more resolution
than you give me credit for. I will not torment you. If I am destined
always to be disappointed and unhappy, I will conceal the anguish I cannot
dissipate; and the tightened cord of life or reason will at last snap, and
set me free.
Yes; I shall be happy--This heart is worthy of the bliss its feelings
anticipate--and I cannot even persuade myself, wretched as they have made
me, that my principles and sentiments are not founded in nature and truth.
But to have done with these subjects.
* * * * *
I have been seriously employed in this way since I came to Tonsberg; yet
I never was so much in the air.--I walk, I ride on horseback--row, bathe,
and even sleep in the fields; my health is consequently improved. The
child, ---- informs me, is well, I long to be with her.
Write to me immediately--were I only to think of myself, I could wish you
to return to me, poor, with the simplicity of character, part of which you
seem lately to have lost, that first attached to you.
Yours most affectionately
MARY IMLAY
I have been subscribing other letters--so I mechanically did the same to
yours.