_To Mrs. Talbot_
New York, October 1.
Be not angry with me, dear Jane. Yet I am sure, when you know, my
offence, you will feel a great deal of indignation. You cannot be more
angry with me than I am with myself. I do not know how to disclose the
very rash thing I have done. If you knew my compunction, you would pity
me.
Cartwright embarked on the day I mentioned, but remained for some days
wind-bound at the Hook. Yesterday he unexpectedly made his appearance in
our apartment, at the very moment when I was perusing your last letter. I
was really delighted to see him, and the images connected with him, which
your letter had just suggested, threw me off my guard. Finding by whom the
letter was written, he solicited with the utmost eagerness the sight of
it.
Can you forgive me? My heart overflowed with pity for the excellent
man. I knew the transport one part of your letter would afford him. I
thought that no injury, but rather happiness, would redound to
yourself.
I now see that I was guilty of a most culpable breach of confidence in
showing him your delicate confession; but I was bewitched, I think.
I can write of nothing else just now. Much as I dread your displeasure,
I could not rest till I had acknowledged my fault and craved your pardon.
Forgive, I beseech you, your