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I have received and have read your
letter. To say thus much is enough. From
what a depth of humiliation and horror have I
emerged! How quickly was I posting to my
ignominy and my ruin? Your letter overtook
me at this place, where a benignant fate decreed
that I should be detained by sickness.
Clara, thou hast judged truly. My eyes are
open on my folly, and my infatuation. The
mists that obscured my sight, are gone; I am
once more a reasonable creature.

How shall I atone for my past misconduct,
or compensate thee, my heavenly monitor, for
the disquiet which thou hast endured for my

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sake? By hasting to thy feet, and pouring out
before thee the tears of my repentance? Thy
forgiveness is all that I dare claim. Thy tenderness
I do not merit. Years of service and
self-denial, are requisite to qualify me for receiving
that best gift.

Your letter, with one from Mary, were left
upon my pillow, by a traveller, passing
through this town to Baltimore. I had swallowed
laudanum, to secure me some sleep,
on the night of my arrival hither. I was unable
to proceed further, my mind and body
being equally distempered. After a perturbed
sleep, I awoke before the light, and lifting
my head from the pillow, to acquaint myself
with my situation, I perceived, by the light
of a candle on the hearth, a pacquet lying beside
me. I snatched it with eagerness, and
found enclosed, thy letter, and one from
Mary.

For a time, I imagined myself still dreaming.
The contents of each letter so far surpassed
and deceived every expectation, every
wish, that I had formed; such pure and unmerited
felicity was offered me, and by means

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so abrupt and inexplicable, that I might well
hesitate to believe it real.

Next morning, on inquiry, I discovered
that a midnight coach had arrived, in which
a traveller, chancing to hear of my condition,
and my name, entered my apartment while I
slept, and left this pacquet, which, as I saw,
was intended to have been conveyed to Baltimore.

My fever, though violent, proved to be
merely an intermittent. By noon this day,
though feeble and languid, I was freed from
disease; I am also free from anxiety. The
purest delight thrills in my bosom; mixed,
now and then, and giving place to compunction
for the folly of my late schemes. In
truth, I have been sick. Since the perusal
of thy letter by Mary, I have been half crazy,
shivering and glowing by turns; bereft of appetite,
and restless. Every object was tinged
with melancholy hues.

But I shall not try to extenuate my fault.
May thy smiles, my beloved Clara, and thy
voice, musical and thrilling as it used to be,
disperse every disquiet. No time shall be

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lost in returning to thee. My utmost haste
will not enable me to offer thee, before Tuesday
morning, the hand and heart of

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