 ebbing fast from his wound, may be thought an atonement, you will comply with his request, and grant him your forgiveness.
As to myself, I can only say that I have been most cruelly deceived, and

nothing but Colonel Walter's present situation, confession, and contrition, could ever have induced me to forgive his having been the cause of so much unhappiness to you—I forgive him mine, because he has repaired it—My own offence, my own failings have rendered me charitable to his—But if Heaven shall spare my life, it shall be spent in penitence for the wrongs I have done you.
Colonel Walter entreats you will let him know, where his wife and child now are? Judge my surprise at hearing him acknowlege such connections! But there is now no time for reflections, as doctor Hartford and the surgeon both say he has not long to live. Death will be ease from the agonies he now endures in his tortured mind; and I trust

in Heaven's mercy, that they will ensure his future peace!
Be speedy, my much injured Louisa, in affording some relief to the most unhappy wretch I ever yet beheld, and in his pardon include that of your abused, and much afflicted husband,

P.S. Lord Lucan's wound is not dangerous—I will write for Harriet to return immediately to Southfield.
I wrote upon the instant, but even at this short interval cannot recollect what I said—My sensations were too much diversified, too rapid, to leave strong traces on the memory—What did I not feel! horror! pity! grief! and even a gleam of joy! joy that my name

shall not disgrace my family, nor make it hateful, when I shall be but dust!
Sir William's kindness in restoring Harriet to me is the most pleasing proof that he could give of his returning confidence—I know that it will make her happy, and therefore do I doubly thank him—All other marks of his regard must come too late—We cannot live together—Yet I feel that death alone will part us—His approaches have long been welcomed by me; I have thought his harbingers were slow, and chid their tardy, though sure progress—Yet would I now delay their lingering steps, till I could sold my sister to my heart, then bid it cease to beat—This is a cruel but a natural wish—I will not press for the indulgence of it.

I am most truly thankful that Lord Lucan's life is safe, but cannot form the least conjecture why he should hazard it, as he has done—It is impossible that he should know the injuries I have sustained from Colonel Walter—To you alone have
