_Frank Henley to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_
Madam,
_Wenbourne-Hill_
Your generous and zealous friend has thought proper to shew me your
letter. I will not attempt to describe the sensations it excited; but,
as your peace of mind is precious to me, and more precious still
perhaps to the interests of society, and since my departure would
occasion alarms and doubts so strong, I am determined to stay. My
motives for going I thought too forcible and well founded to be
overpowered; nor could they perhaps have been vanquished by any less
cause. If one of us must suffer the warfare of contending sentiments
and principles, let it be me. It was to fly from and if possible forget
or subdue them that I projected such a voyage. Our duties to society
must not cede to any effeminate compassion for ourselves. We are both
enough acquainted with those duties to render us more than commonly
culpable, should we be guilty of neglect.
To describe my weakness, and the contention to which my passions have
been lately subject, might tend to awaken emotions in you which ought
to be estranged from your mind. Our lot is cast: let us seek support in
those principles which first taught us reciprocal esteem, nor palliate
our desertion of them by that self pity which would become our
reproach. We have dared to make high claims, form high enterprises, and
assert high truths; let us shew ourselves worthy of the pretensions we
have made, and not by our proper weakness betray the cause of which we
are enamoured.
You will not--no, you are too just--I am sure, madam, you will not
attribute resolutions like these, which are more (infinitely more)
painful to the heart than they ought to be, to any light or unworthy
change of sentiment. Superior gifts, superior attainments, and superior
virtues inevitably beget admiration, in those who discover them, for
their possessors. Admiration is the parent of esteem, and the
continuance and increase of this esteem is affection, or, in its purest
and best sense, love. To say I would not esteem and would not love
virtue, and especially high and unusual virtue, would be both folly and
guilt.
But you have taught me how pure and self-denying this love may be. Oh
that the man of your choice may but become all you hope, and all of
which his uncommon powers are capable! Oh that I may but see you as
happy as you deserve to be, and I think I shall then not bestow much
pity upon myself.
I have forborne, madam, to intrude the petty disquiets of another kind,
from which as you will readily imagine I cannot have been wholly free.
Need I say how much I disapprove my father's views, and the mode by
which he would have them accomplished? There is no effort I will not
make to conquer and remove this obstacle. It wounds me to the heart
that you, the daughter of his benefactor, should for a moment be
dependant on his avarice. The injury and iniquity are equally
revolting, and there are moments when my prejudices falsely accuse me
of being a participator in the guilt.
I have had two conversations with my father: they both were animated;
but, though he was very determined, his resolution begins to fail; and,
as I have justice on my side and am still more determined than he, I
have no doubt that in a few days every thing which Sir Arthur has
required of him he will be willing to undertake.
However as in a certain sense all is doubtful which is yet to be done,
perhaps strict prudence would demand that Sir Arthur should not be led
to hope till success is ascertained; of which I will not delay a moment
to send you information.