 I said, »little happiness remains for
us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in you. Chase away your
idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life, and my endeavours for
contenment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one; when revealed to you,
it will chill your frame with horror, and then, far from being surprised at my
misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide
this tale of misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take
place; for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But
until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most earnestly
entreat, and I know you will comply.«
    In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter, we returned to
Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection; yet tears were in her
eyes, as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a change in
her also. She was thinner, and had lost much of that heavenly vivacity that had
before charmed me; but her gentleness, and soft looks of compassion, made her a
more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I was.
    The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness
with it; and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed me;
sometimes I was furious, and burnt with rage, sometimes low and despondent. I
neither spoke, nor looked at any one, but sat motionless, bewildered by the
multitude of miseries that overcame me.
    Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voice
would soothe me when transported by passion, and inspire me with human feelings
when sunk in torpor. She wept with me, and for me. When reason returned, she
would remonstrate, and endeavour to inspire me with resignation. Ah! it is well
for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace. The
agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise sometimes found in
indulging the excess of grief.
    Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my immediate marriage with
Elizabeth. I remained silent.
    »Have you, then, some other attachment?«
    »None on earth. I love Elizabeth, and look forward to our union with
delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate myself, in
life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.«
    »My dear
