Mr. Pole
in his business. He consented at once to everything. The next day he
gave me the money, and I signed my name and pledged my honour to an
engagement. My friends were relieved.

"It was then I began to think of you. I had not to study the matter long
to learn that I did not love you: and I will not trust my own feelings
as they come to me now. I judge myself by my acts, or, Merthyr! I should
sink to the ground like a dead body when I think of separation from you
for three years. But, what am I? I am a raw girl. I command nothing but
raw and flighty hearts of men. Are they worth anything? Let me study
three years, without any talk of hearts at all. It commenced too early,
and has left nothing to me but a dreadful knowledge of the weakness in
most people:--not in you!

"If I might call you my Beloved! and so chain myself to you, I think I
should have all your firmness and double my strength. I will not; for I
will not have what I do not deserve. I think of you reading this, till
I try to get to you; my heart is like a bird caught in the hands of
a cruel boy. By what I have done I know I do not love you. Must we
half-despise a man to love him? May no dear woman that I know ever marry
the man she first loves! My misery now is gladness, is like rain-drops
on rising wings, if I say to myself 'Free! free, Emilia!' I am bound for
three years, but I smile at such a bondage to my body. Evviva! my soul
is free! Three years of freedom, and no sounding of myself--three years
of growing, and studying; three years of idle heart!--Merthyr! I
throb to think that those three years--true man! my hero, I may call
you!--those three years may make me worthy of you. And if you have given
all to Italy, that a daughter of Italy should help to return it, seems,
my friend, so tenderly sweet--here is the first drop from my eyes!

"I would break what you call a Sentiment: I broke my word to Wilfrid.
But this sight of money has a meaning that I cannot conquer. I know you
would not wish me to for your own pleasure; and therefore I go. I hope
to be growing; I fly like a seed to Italy. Let me drill, and take sharp
words, and fret at trifles! I lift my face to that prospect as if I
smelt new air. I am changeing--I have no dreams of Italy, no longings,
but go to see her like a machine ready to do my work. Whoever speaks
to me, I feel that I look at them and know them. I see the faults of my
country--Oh, beloved Breseians! not yours, Florentines