_[Tonsberg] August 7 [1795]._
Air, exercise, and bathing, have restored me to health, braced my muscles,
and covered my ribs, even whilst I have recovered my former activity.--I
cannot tell you that my mind is calm, though I have snatched some moments
of exquisite delight, wandering through the woods, and resting on the
rocks.
This state of suspense, my friend, is intolerable; we must determine on
something--and soon;--we must meet shortly, or part for ever. I am
sensible that I acted foolishly--but I was wretched--when we were
together--Expecting too much, I let the pleasure I might have caught, slip
from me. I cannot live with you--I ought not--if you form another
attachment. But I promise you, mine shall not be intruded on you. Little
reason have I to expect a shadow of happiness, after the cruel
disappointments that have rent my heart; but that of my child seems to
depend on our being together. Still I do not wish you to sacrifice a
chance of enjoyment for an uncertain good. I feel a conviction, that I can
provide for her, and it shall be my object--if we are indeed to part to
meet no more. Her affection must not be divided. She must be a comfort to
me--if I am to have no other--and only know me as her support. I feel that
I cannot endure the anguish of corresponding with you--if we are only to
correspond.--No; if you seek for happiness elsewhere, my letters shall not
interrupt your repose. I will be dead to you. I cannot express to you what
pain it gives me to write about an eternal separation.--You must
determine--examine yourself--But, for God's sake! spare me the anxiety of
uncertainty!--I may sink under the trial; but I will not complain.
Adieu! If I had any thing more to say to you, it is all flown, and
absorbed by the most tormenting apprehensions; yet I scarcely know what
new form of misery I have to dread.
I ought to beg your pardon for having sometimes written peevishly; but you
will impute it to affection, if you understand anything of the heart of
Yours truly
MARY.