emerge into a clear atmosphere of hope
and content. The despondency has been agonizing, but the agony is sharp
and rapid, and gives place to the wisdom of hope.

Temple now comes to Chicksands at an early date. There is a new
interchange of vows. Never again will their faith be shaken by fretting
and despair; and these vows are never broken, but remain with the lovers
until they are set aside by others, taken under the solemn sanction of
the law, and the old troubles vanish in new responsibilities and a new
life.

_Letter 41._--Lady Anne Blunt was a daughter of the Earl of Newport. Her
mother had turned Catholic in 1637, which had led to an estrangement
between her and her husband, and we may conclude poor Lady Anne had by
no means a happy home. There are two scandals connected with her name.
She appears to have run away with one William Blunt,--the "Mr. Blunt"
mentioned by Dorothy in her next letter; and on April 18, 1654, she
petitioned the Protector to issue a special commission upon her whole
case. Mr. Blunt pretended that she was contracted to him for the sake,
it is said, of gaining money thereby. There being no Bishop's Court at
this time, there are legal difficulties in the way, and we never hear
the result of the petition. Again, in February 1655, one Mr. Porter
finds himself committed to Lambeth House for carrying away the Lady Anne
Blunt, and endeavouring to marry her without her father's consent.

SIR,--Having tired myself with thinking, I mean to weary you with
reading, and revenge myself that way for all the unquiet thoughts you
have given me. But I intended this a sober letter, and therefore, _sans
raillerie_, let me tell you, I have seriously considered all our
misfortunes, and can see no end of them but by submitting to that which
we cannot avoid, and by yielding to it break the force of a blow which
if resisted brings a certain ruin. I think I need not tell you how dear
you have been to me, nor that in your kindness I placed all the
satisfaction of my life; 'twas the only happiness I proposed to myself,
and had set my heart so much upon it that it was therefore made my
punishment, to let me see that, how innocent soever I thought my
affection, it was guilty in being greater than is allowable for things
of this world. 'Tis not a melancholy humour gives me these apprehensions
and inclinations, nor the persuasions of others; 'tis the result of a
long strife with myself, before my reason could overcome