r
you cannot, for you cannot conceive the smallest particle of that
intense love I bore to Gertrude. To you--to any other man, it might seem
no extraordinary hardship to leave her even for an uncertain period--to
me it was like tearing away the very life from my heart.

"I procured her a sort of half companion, and half nurse; I provided for
her every thing that the most anxious and fearful love could suggest;
and with a mind full of forebodings too darkly to be realized hereafter,
I hastened to the nearest seaport, and set sail for France.

"When I arrived at Toulouse my mother was much better, but still in a
very uncertain and dangerous state of health. I stayed with her for
more than a month, during which time every post brought me a line from
Gertrude, and bore back a message from 'my heart to her's' in return.
This was no mean consolation, more especially when each letter spoke of
increasing health and strength. At the month's end, I was preparing to
return--my mother was slowly recovering, and I no longer had any fears
on her account; but, there are links in our destiny fearfully interwoven
with each other, and ending only in the anguish of our ultimate doom.
The day before that fixed for my departure, I had been into a house
where an epidemic disease raged; that night I complained of oppressive
and deadly illness--before morning I was in a high fever.

"During the time I was sensible of my state, I wrote constantly to
Gertrude, and carefully concealed my illness; but for several days I was
delirious. When I recovered I called eagerly for my letters--there were
none--none! I could not believe I was yet awake; but days still passed
on, and not a line from England--from Gertrude. The instant I was able,
I insisted upon putting horses to my carriage; I could bear no longer
the torture of my suspense. By the most rapid journeys my debility would
allow me to bear, I arrived in England. I travelled down to--by the same
road that I had gone over with her; the words of her foreboding, at
that time, sunk like ice into my heart, 'You will travel this road again
before many months are past, and I shall not be with you: perhaps, I
shall not be upon the earth.' At that thought I could have called unto
the grave to open for me. Her unaccountable and lengthened silence,
in spite of all the urgency and entreaties of my letters for a reply,
filled me with presentiments the most fearful. Oh, God--oh, God, they
were nothing to the