I have seen you, Emily, and for the last time! My eyes are dry--my hand
does not tremble. I live, move, breathe, as before--and yet I have seen
you for the last time! You told me--even while you leaned on my bosom,
even while your lip pressed mine--you told me (and I saw your sincerity)
to spare you, and to see you no more. You told me you had no longer any
will, any fate of your own; that you would, if I still continued to
desire it, leave friends, home, honour, for me; but you did not disguise
from me that you would, in so doing, leave happiness also. You did not
conceal from me that I was not sufficient to constitute all your world:
you threw yourself, as you had done once before, upon what you called my
generosity: you did not deceive yourself then; you have not deceived
yourself now. In two weeks I shall leave England, probably for ever.
I have another country still more dear to me, from its afflictions and
humiliation. Public ties differ but little in their nature from private;
and this confession of preference of what is debased to what is exalted,
will be an answer to Mrs. St. John's assertion, that we cannot love in
disgrace as we can in honour. Enough of this. In the choice, my poor
Emily, that you have made, I cannot reproach you. You have done wisely,
rightly, virtuously. You said that this separation must rest rather with
me than with yourself; that you would be mine the moment I demanded it.
I will not now or ever accept this promise. No one, much less one whom I
love so intensely, so truly as I do you, shall ever receive disgrace at
my hands, unless she can feel that that disgrace would be dearer to her
than glory elsewhere; that the simple fate of being mine was not so much
a recompense as a reward; and that, in spite of worldly depreciation and
shame, it would constitute and concentrate all her visions of happiness
and pride. I am now going to bid you farewell. May you--I say this
disinterestedly, and from my very heart--may you soon forget how much you
have loved and yet love me! For this purpose, you cannot have a better
companion than Mrs. St. John. Her opinion of me is loudly expressed, and
probably true; at all events, you will do wisely to believe it. You will
hear me attacked and reproached by many. I do not deny the charges; you
know best what I have deserved from you. God bless you, Emily. Wherever
I go, I shall never cease to love you as I do now. May you be happy in
your child and in your conscience! Once more, God bless you, and
farewell!