_To James Montford_
Philadelphia, December 9.
I WILL imagine, my friend, that you have read the letter [Footnote: The
preceding one.] which I have hastily transcribed. I will not stop to tell
you my reflections upon it, but shall hasten with this letter to Mrs.
Fielder. I might send it; but I have grown desperate.
A final effort must be made for my own happiness and that of Jane. From
their own lips will I know my destiny. I have conversed too long at a
distance with this austere lady. I will mark with my own eyes the effect
of this discovery. Perhaps the moment may prove a yielding one. Finding me
innocent in one respect, in which her persuasion of my guilt was most
strong, may she not remit or soften her sentence on inferior faults? And
what may be the influence of Jane's deportment, when she touches my hand
in a last adieu?
I have complied with Miss Jessup's wish in one particular. I have sent
her the letter which I got from Hannah, unopened; unread; accompanied with
a few words, to this effect:--
"If you ever injured Mr. Talbot, your motives for doing so entitle you
to nothing but compassion, while your present conduct lays claim, not only
to forgiveness, but to gratitude. The letter you intrust to me shall be
applied to no purpose but that which you proposed by writing it. Enclosed
is the paper you request, the seal unbroken and its contents unread. In
this, as in all cases, I have no stronger wish than to act as
"YOUR TRUE FRIEND."
And now, my friend, lay I down the pen for a few hours,--hours the most
important, perhaps, in my eventful life. Surely this interview with Mrs.
Fielder will decide my destiny. After it, I shall have nothing to
hope.
I prepare for it with awe and trembling. The more nearly it approaches,
the more my heart falters. I summon up in vain a tranquil and steadfast
spirit; but perhaps a walk in the clear air will be more conducive to this
end than a day's ruminations in my chamber.