_To Jane Talbot_
Wilmington, Saturday, October 9.
I thought I had convinced my friend that a letter from me ought not to
be expected earlier than Monday. I left her to gratify no fickle humour,
nor because my chief pleasure lay anywhere but in her company. She knew of
my design to make some stay at this place, and that the business that
occasioned my stay would leave me no leisure to write.
Is it possible that my visits to Miss Secker have given you any
concern? Why must the source of your anxiety be always so mortifying and
opprobrious to me? That the absence of a few days, and the company of
another woman, should be thought to change my sentiments, and make me
secretly recant those vows which I offered to you, is an imputation on my
common sense which--I suppose I deserve. You judge of me from what you
know of me. How can you do otherwise? If my past conduct naturally creates
such suspicions, who am I to blame but myself? Reformation should precede
respect; and how should I gain confidence in my integrity but as the fruit
of perseverance in well-doing?
Alas! how much has he lost who has forfeited his own esteem!
As to Miss Secker, your ignorance of her, and, I may add, of yourself,
has given her the preference. You think her your superior, no doubt, in
every estimable and attractive quality, and therefore suspect her
influence on a being so sensual and volatile as poor Hal. Were she really
more lovely, the faithless and giddy wretch might possibly forget you; but
Miss Secker is a woman whose mind and person are not only inferior to
yours, but wholly unfitted to inspire love. If it were possible to smile
in my present mood, I think I should indulge _one smile_ at the
thought of falling in love with a woman who has scarcely had education
enough to enable her to write her name, who has been confined to her bed
about eighteen months by a rheumatism contracted by too assiduous
application to the wash-tub, and who often boasts that she was born, not
above forty-five years ago, in an upper story of the mansion at Mount
Vernon.
You do not tell me who it was that betrayed me to you. I suspect,
however, it was Miss Jessup. She was passing through this town, in her
uncle's carriage, on Wednesday, on her way home. Seeing me come out of the
poor woman's lodgings, she stopped the coach, prated for five minutes, and
left me with ironical menaces of telling you of my frequent visits to a
single lady, of whom it appeared that she had some knowledge. Thus you see
that your disquiets have had no foundation but in the sportive malice of
your talkative neighbour.
Hannah Secker chanced to be talked of at Mr. Henshaw's as a poor
creature, who was sick and destitute, and lay, almost deserted, in a
neighbouring hovel. She existed on charity, which was the more scanty and
reluctant as she bore but an indifferent character either for honesty or
gratitude.
The name, when first mentioned, struck my ear as something that had
once been familiar, and, in my solitary evening walk, I stopped at her
cottage. The sight of her, though withered by age and disease, called her
fully to mind. Three years ago, she lived in the city, and had been very
serviceable to me in the way of her calling. I had dismissed her, however,
after receiving several proofs that a pair of silk stockings and a muslin
cravat offered too mighty a temptation for her virtue. You know I have but
little money to spare from my own necessities, and all the service I could
render her was to be her petitioner and advocate with some opulent
families in this place. But enough--and too much--of Hannah Secker.
Need I say that I have read your narrative, and that I fully acquit you
of the guilt laid to your charge? That was done, indeed, before I heard
your defence, and I was anxious to hear your story, merely because all
that relates to you is in the highest degree interesting to me.
This letter, notwithstanding my engagements, should be longer, if I
were not in danger, by writing on, of losing the post. So, dearest love,
farewell, and tell me in your next (which I shall expect on Tuesday) that
every pain has vanished from your head and from your heart. You may as
well delay writing to your mother till I return. I hope it will be
permitted me to do so very shortly. Again, my only friend, farewell.