y mother, and
settled the affair by taking back Charlotte's box of clothes. I had not
a farthing; at her age a father had absolute control, and nothing short
of running away would have been of use. We talked of drowning ourselves,
or of her taking work in the fields. I projected things equally absurd
for myself. It ended in her agreeing to go home,--she could not help
that,--but refusing to marry.

Charlotte wrote me almost directly after her return. My mother had
reserved the right of opening my letters, although she had ceased to do
so. That morning seeing she had one addressed to me, in fear I snatched
it out of her hand. She insisted on having it back, I refused, and we
had a row. "How dare you sir? give it me." "I won't, you shant open my
letter." "I will, a boy like you!" "I am not a boy, I am a man, if you
ever open a letter of mine, I will go for a common soldier, instead of
being an officer." "I will tell your guardian." "I mean to tell him how
shamefully short of money I am, uncle says it's a shame, so does aunt."
my mother sunk down in tears, it was my first rebellion; she spoke to
my guardian, never touched my letters again, and gave me five times
the money I used to have; but to make sure, I had letters enclosed to a
friend, and fetched them.

Charlotte was not allowed to go out alone, and was harassed in every
way; for all that, I managed to meet her at a local school, one Saturday
afternoon when it was empty; some friendly teacher let her in, and she
let me in. We fucked on a hard form, in a nearly dark room, about the
most difficult poke I ever had, it was a ridiculous posture. But our
meeting was full of tears, despondency, and dread of being with child.
She told me I had ruined her, even fucking did not cheer her. A week or
so afterwards, having no money, I walked all the way to try to see
her, and failed. Afterwards in her letters, she begged me never to tell
anyone about what had passed between us. Her father sent her away to his
brother's, where she was to help as a servant; for somehow it had got
wind that she had met some one at the school-house. There she fell ill
and was sent home again. Then she wrote that she should marry, or have
no peace, wished I was older, and then she could marry me; she did not
write much common sense, although it did not strike me so then. She was
coming to London to buy things, would say she would call on my mother on
the road, but would meet me instead. How she humbu