 affection, infallibly, enslaves the heart that cherishes it; and slavery is the tomb of virtue and of peace.

'I believe it would not be proper for us to meet again—at least at present—should I hear of sickness, or calamity, befalling you, I shall, I suspect, be impelled, by an irresistible impulse to seek you—but I will no more interrupt your repose—Though you have contemned my affection, my friendship will still follow you.

'If you really love, I think you ought to make some sacrifices, and not render yourself, and the happy object of your tenderness, the victims of factitious notions.—Remember—youth and life will quickly fade. Relinquish, call upon her to relinquish, her prejudices—should she refuse, she is unworthy of you, and you will regret, too late, the tender, faithful, ingenuous heart, that you have pierced through and through—that you have almost broken! Should she make you happy, I will esteem, though I may never have an opportunity of thanking, her—Were she informed of my conduct, she might rejoice in the trial of your affection—though I should not.

'The spirits, that had crouded round my heart, are already subsiding—a flood of softness, a tide of overwhelming affection, gushes upon it—and I feel sinking into helpless, infantine, distress! Hasten to me your promised remarks—they will rouse, they will strengthen, me—Truth I will never call indelicate or inhuman—it is only the virtuous mind can dare to practise, to challenge, it:—simplicity is true refinement.

'Let us reap from the past all the good we can—a close, and searching, knowledge of the secret springs and foldings of our hearts. Methinks, I could wish you justified, even at my own expence.—I ask, unshrinkingly, a frank return.

'A heart-rending sigh accompanies my farewel—the last struggles of expiring nature will be far less painful—but my philosophy, now, sternly calls upon me to put its precepts in practice—trembling—shuddering—I obey!

'Farewel!

'Emma.'

Perhaps it cost me some effort to make the preceding letter so moderate—yet, every victory gained over ourselves is attended with advantages. But this apparent calm was the lethargy of despair—it was succeeded by severer conflicts, by keener anguish. A week passed, and near a second—I received no answer.

12: Godwin's Caleb Williams.

 

 

CHAPTER IX

A letter from the country made it necessary for me, again, to address Mr Harley, to make some enquiries which respected business of his mother's. It may be, that I felt a mixture of other motives;—it is certain, that when
