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Neal, John, 1793-1876 [1823], A novel, volume 2 ('Published for Whom it May ConcernÓ', Baltimore?) [word count] [eaf293v2].

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Letter JOHN OMAR TO EDWARD MOLTON.
Philadelphia, —
My Dear Molton,

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I have just arrived. My spirits are depressed; the
weather is gloomy, and I feel myself to be really and
truly alone, in a land of strangers. How will this adventure
end?—Would that I might rend away the dark
curtain, for a moment, and look into futurity. I might appalled--I
might; but, were it not better to have your senses
reel at once, and all your strength desert you; than to be
cheated, as I have been, year after year, with hope and disappointment?
What can I say to you? It is impossible that
I can have anything to write; yet, my heart is heavy with
thought and speculation. I promised to write, and,
therefore have I written. Let me hear from you directly.
I shall be impatient for your answer; for I feel as
a stranger here, even in my retirement.

There is one thing that troubles me. But you will
suffer no trifling there, will you?—Is Grenville serious?—
I know not what to think, but I wish you to inform me
of all that concerns him and Juliet. I saw him after I
left you, for about ten minutes. His manner was solemn;
and mine, I fear, rather arrogant; still, there was something
mysterious, I thought, in his deportment, which
justified me, in a measure. I came by your lodgings,
on purpose to communicate what I had learnt, to you;
but, you had gone out, and I could not wait. The stage-coach
was just rattling round the corner.

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No—Molton. This is a desperate enterprise. There
is no hope—no chance; but, as I have set out upon it, under
your counsel and impulse, I never will abandon it,
never!—until my fate be determined. Yet remember—
to-morrow night is the trial—and I do not expect to succeed.
I have not even hope to sustain me.

Yours, forever,
OMAR. P. S.—I open this in dismay and trepidation—what
have I seen?—I was hurrying, to the Post Office—and I
could swear that I met the apparition of Juliet,—palled---
her veil over her face—hanging upon the arm of Grenville.
I was thunderstruck. I could not believe my
senses. Explain it to me, Molton?—What can this mean?
Have I really seen her?—Or have my senses yielded to
the incessant fatigue and agitation, that I have experienced?
I know not—I see as usual—hear as usual—my
memory, too, is as distinct; and I can discover no signs
of excitement about me, except a fierce throbbing of the
temples. I almost touched her, before I saw her—and
then—there was something in her action, that made me
look up. It was that of one, trying to conceal herself;---
she gathered her veil thickly about her face,---and I
thought---perhaps it was fancy----that she had been
weeping. The whole passed off in a moment,---like a
flash of light----but if it was not Juliet Gracie, by
heaven, it was her apparition. She entered a carriage
that stood waiting for her;---and then only, did I
turn my eyes to the man that was with her. His back
was toward me; but it struck me that he appeared very
like Mr. Grenville. Is'nt it strange?---But I suppose
that resemblance obtruded itself upon me, in consequence
of my thinking of Juliet. Yet I cannot laugh at it. I
would---I try to---but I cannot. There is a strange reality,
notwithstanding the suddenness and rapidity, with
which it appeared, that I am trembling at, yet. The
result is---that I have run into a bookstore close by the
office, torn open my letter, and written just as I felt.

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My conclusion is this---either my senses are disturbed---
or, I have seen a most unaccountable resemblance---
or—Gracious God!---I will not imagine such a thing.
It were a sure proof of my disordered brain. No---she
is not a woman for such adventures. Write immediately, if you any mercy on me. JOHN OMAR.
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Neal, John, 1793-1876 [1823], A novel, volume 2 ('Published for Whom it May ConcernÓ', Baltimore?) [word count] [eaf293v2].