to her: if she
wet her clothes thoroughly before jumping into the river, their weight
would make her sink rapidly. She walked up and down, up and down, the
bridge in the driving rain. The fog enveloped the night in a gloom as
impenetrable as that of her heart. No one passed to interrupt her
preparations. At the end of half an hour, satisfied that her end was
accomplished, she leaped from the bridge into the water below. Despite
her soaked clothing, she did not sink at once. In her desperation she
pressed her skirts around her; then she became unconscious. She was
found, however, before it was too late. Vigorous efforts were made to
restore life, and she was brought back to consciousness. She had met with
the insult she most dreaded, and her disappointment was keen. Her failure
only increased her determination to destroy herself. This she told Imlay
in a letter written shortly after, dated November, 1795:--

"I have only to lament that, when the bitterness of death was past,
I was inhumanly brought back to life and misery. But a fixed
determination is not to be baffled by disappointment: nor will I
allow that to be a frantic attempt which was one of the calmest
acts of reason. In this respect I am only accountable to myself.
Did I care for what is termed reputation, it is by other
circumstances that I should be dishonored.

"You say 'that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the
wretchedness into which we have been plunged.' You are extricated
long since. But I forbear to comment. If I am condemned to live
longer it is a living death.

"It appears to me that you lay much more stress on delicacy than on
principle; for I am unable to discover what sentiment of delicacy
would have been violated by your visiting a wretched friend, if
indeed you have any friendship for me. But since your new
attachment is the only sacred thing in your eyes, I am silent. Be
happy! My complaints shall never more damp your enjoyment; perhaps
I am mistaken in supposing that even my death could, for more than
a moment. This is what you call magnanimity. It is happy for
yourself that you possess this quality in the highest degree.

"Your continually asserting that you will do all in your power to
contribute to my comfort, when you only allude to pecuniary
assistance, appears to me a flagrant breach of delicacy. I want