s:

"My dear Friend: I am glad I can call you my friend, though nothing can
ever come of our friendship--nothing, for we may not see one another as
other friends do. My life was ruined four years ago, and every now and
then I see afresh how complete and terrible the ruin is. Yet if I had
known beforehand how your life would be linked with mine, I would have
done any thing in my power to save you from sharing in my ruin. Ought I
to have told you at once that I was married? But just that was my
secret, and it seemed so much safer while no one knew it but myself. I
did not see, as I do now, that I was acting a falsehood. I do not see
how I can help doing that. It is as shocking to me as to you. Do not
judge me harshly.

"I do not like to speak to you about my marriage. I was very young and
very miserable; any change seemed better than living with my
step-mother. I did not know what I was doing. The Saviour said, 'Father,
forgive them, for they know not what they do.' I hope I shall be
forgiven by you, and your mother, and God, for indeed I did not know
what I was doing.

"Last October when I escaped from them, it was partly because I felt I
should soon be as wicked as they. I do not think any one ought to remain
where there is no chance of being good. If I am wrong, remember I am not
old yet. I may learn what my duty is, and then I will do it. I am only
waiting to find out exactly what I ought to do, and then I will do it,
whatever it may be.

"Now I am compelled to flee away again from this quiet, peaceful home
where you and Tardif have been so good to me. I began to feel perfectly
safe here, and all at once the refuge fails me. It breaks my heart, but
I must go, and my only gladness is that it will be good for you.
By-and-by you will forget me, and return to your cousin Julia, and be
happy just as you once thought you should be--as you would have been but
for me. You must think of me as one dead. I am quite dead--lost to you.

"Yet I know you will sometimes wish to hear what has become of me.
Tardif will. And I owe you both more than I can ever repay. But it would
not be well for me to write often. I have promised Tardif that I will
write to him once a year, that you and he may know that I am still
alive. When there comes no letter, say, 'Olivia is dead!' Do not be
grieved for that; it will be the greatest, best release God can give me.
Say, 'Thank God, Olivia is dead!'

"Good-by, my dear friend; good-by, good-by!