ays ago,
disappear again. 'I am fallen,' as Milton said, 'on evil days,' for
I really believe that Europe will be in a state of convulsion
during half a century at least. Life is but a labor of patience; it
is always rolling a great stone up a hill; for before a person can
find a resting-place, imagining it is lodged, down it comes again,
and all the work is to be done over anew!

"Should I attempt to write any more, I could not change the strain.
My head aches and my heart is heavy. The world appears an 'unweeded
garden' where things 'rank and vile' flourish best.

"If you do not return soon,--or, which is no such weighty matter,
talk of it,--I will throw my slippers out at window, and be off,
nobody knows where."

The next morning she added in a postscript:--

"I was very low-spirited last night, ready to quarrel with your
cheerful temper, which makes absence easy to you. And why should I
mince the matter? I was offended at your not even mentioning it. I
do not want to be loved like a goddess, but I wish to be necessary
to you. God bless you!"

Imlay's answers to these letters were kind and reassuring, and contained
ample explanation of his apparent coldness. He probably, to give him the
benefit of the doubt, was at this time truthful in pleading business as
an excuse for his long absence. His reasons, at all events, not only
satisfied Mary but made her ashamed of what seemed to her a want of faith
in him. She was as humble in her penitence as if she had been grievously
at fault. One Monday night she wrote:--

"I have just received your kind and rational letter, and would fain
hide my face, glowing with shame for my folly. I would hide it in
your bosom, if you would again open it to me, and nestle closely
till you bade my fluttering heart be still, by saying that you
forgave me. With eyes overflowing with tears, and in the humblest
attitude, I entreat you. Do not turn from me, for indeed I love you
fondly, and have been very wretched since the night I was so
cruelly hurt by thinking that you had no confidence in me."

As it continued impossible for Imlay to leave Havre, it was arranged that
Mary should join him there. She could not go at once on account of her
health. While she had been so unhappy, she had neglected to take that
care of herself which her condition necessitated, and she wa