* * * * *
When my husband reached home I was strong to do the last duty which
my position imposed upon me. I knew well that, cost what it would,
this must also be done. I must live the life, to which I was bound,
openly. I went to him and told him of my love, of my resolution, and
of our separation. Much passed between us at this horrible time; but
all that was in my heart to say was just these words: I love William.
Of the rest, and of what followed, I have no clear remembrance.
I only knew now that he must be gone—that life, hope, all were gone,
though I remained there still that honorable thing, a wife! For me,
it was determined that I should leave England for a time. I was to
travel. A change of scene they prescribed for the invalid of the
heart. It was always the same, the same ignorance of a woman’s nature
and its necessities. They would have me enjoy Paris, Rome. They would
substitute the splendor of the Vatican for some little flower that
might perchance come from his hand should I remain at home. It seemed
so much more to them.
Absorbed in the contemplation of the ruins of my life, I took no
heed of these arrangements for my departure, but abandoned myself a
willing prey to despair.
When the full measure of my grief had exhausted itself, I arose a new
being.
From that moment I was myself. I had driven every hope, every feeling
from my heart. I had received from his lips the last sacrifice a man
can offer to the woman he loves—the abnegation of himself for her
happiness; and I declare before Heaven that it was my resolve to do
what I thought right, though it cost me my life; for I had nothing
now to live for.
I had long followed blindly a passion that brought me to the verge of
social destruction. I had renounced it.
I had blindly followed for years a path of duty which had degraded
every instinct of my nature to its last measure of degradation.