d
changed my name the second time. I am now Mrs. Rondley. But the new
lodging was the wretchedest and dearest I ever set foot in, and I left
it after being there only a day. I am now at No. 20 in the same street
that you left me in originally. All last night the sash of my window
rattled so dreadfully that I could not sleep, but I had not energy
enough to get out of bed to stop it. This morning I have been walking--I
don't know how far--but far enough to make my feet ache. I have been
looking at the outside of two or three of the theatres, but they seem
forbidding if I regard them with the eye of an actress in search of
an engagement. Though you said I was to think no more of the stage,
I believe you would not care if you found me there. But I am not an
actress by nature, and art will never make me one. I am too timid and
retiring; I was intended for a cottager's wife. I certainly shall not
try to go on the boards again whilst I am in this strange place. The
idea of being brought on as far as London and then left here alone! Why
didn't you leave me in Liverpool? Perhaps you thought I might have told
somebody that my real name was Mrs. Manston. As if I had a living friend
to whom I could impart it--no such good fortune! In fact, my nearest
friend is no nearer than what most people would call a stranger. But
perhaps I ought to tell you that a week before I wrote my last letter to
you, after wishing that my uncle and aunt in Philadelphia (the only near
relatives I had) were still alive, I suddenly resolved to send a line to
my cousin James, who, I believe, is still living in that neighbourhood.
He has never seen me since we were babies together. I did not tell him
of my marriage, because I thought you might not like it, and I gave my
real maiden name, and an address at the post-office here. But God knows
if the letter will ever reach him.

'Do write me an answer, and send something.--Your affectionate wife,
EUNICE.'

'FRIDAY, October 28.

'MY DEAR HUSBAND,--The order for ten pounds has just come, and I am
truly glad to get it. But why will you write so bitterly? Ah--well, if
I had only had the money I should have been on my way to America by this
time, so don't think I want to bore you of my own free-will. Who can
you have met with at that new place? Remember I say this in no malignant
tone, but certainly the facts go to prove that you have deserted me!
You are inconstan