impatient; but that I must decide what to do
with myself when I leave Lady Linlithgow.

Your most affectionate friend,

LUCY MORRIS.

March 2, 18--.

She read this letter over and over again, thinking of all that
it said and of all that it omitted to say. She was at first half
disposed to make protestations of forgiveness,--to assure him that
not even within her own heart would she reproach him, should he feel
himself bound to retract the promise he had made her. She longed to
break out into love, but so to express her love that her lover should
know that it was strong enough even to sacrifice itself for his sake.
But though her heart longed to speak freely, her judgment told her
that it would be better that she should be reticent and tranquil in
her language. Any warmth on her part would be in itself a reproach to
him. If she really wished to assist him in extricating himself from a
difficulty into which he had fallen in her behalf, she would best do
so by offering him his freedom in the fewest and plainest words which
she could select.

But even when the letter was written she doubted as to the wisdom of
sending it. She kept it that she might sleep upon it. She did sleep
upon it,--and when the morning came she would not send it. Had not
absolute faith in her lover been the rock on which she had declared
to herself that she would build the house of her future hopes? Had
not she protested again and again that no caution from others should
induce her to waver in her belief? Was it not her great doctrine to
trust,--to trust implicitly, even though all should be lost if her
trust should be misplaced? And was it well that she should depart
from all this, merely because it might be convenient for her to make
arrangements as to the coming months? If it were to be her fate to be
rejected, thrown over, and deceived, of what use to her could be any
future arrangements? All to her would be ruin, and it would matter
to her nothing whither she should be taken. And then, why should
she lie to him as she would lie in sending such a letter? If he did
throw her over he would be a traitor, and her heart would be full of
reproaches. Whatever might be his future lot in life, he owed it to
her to share it with her, and if he evaded his debt he would be a
traitor and a miscreant. She would never tell him so. She would be
far too proud to condescend to spoken or written reproaches. But
she would know that it would be so,