_[London, Dec. 1795.]_
As the parting from you for ever is the most serious event of my life, I
will once expostulate with you, and call not the language of truth and
feeling ingenuity!
I know the soundness of your understanding--and know that it is impossible
for you always to confound the caprices of every wayward inclination with
the manly dictates of principle.
You tell me "that I torment you."--Why do I?----Because you cannot
estrange your heart entirely from me--and you feel that justice is on my
side. You urge, "that your conduct was unequivocal."--It was not.--When
your coolness has hurt me, with what tenderness have you endeavoured to
remove the impression!--and even before I returned to England, you took
great pains to convince me, that all my uneasiness was occasioned by the
effect of a worn-out constitution--and you concluded your letter with
these words, "Business alone has kept me from you.--Come to any port, and
I will fly down to my two dear girls with a heart all their own."
With these assurances, is it extraordinary that I should believe what I
wished? I might--and did think that you had a struggle with old
propensities; but I still thought that I and virtue should at last
prevail. I still thought that you had a magnanimity of character, which
would enable you to conquer yourself.
Imlay, believe me, it is not romance, you have acknowledged to me
feelings of this kind.--You could restore me to life and hope, and the
satisfaction you would feel, would amply repay you.
In tearing myself from you, it is my own heart I pierce--and the time will
come, when you will lament that you have thrown away a heart, that, even
in the moment of passion, you cannot despise.--I would owe every thing to
your generosity--but, for God's sake, keep me no longer in suspense!--Let
me see you once more!--