treat me as he has
treated me.

More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you to
keep to yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone,
that may spread the evil which I hope will end with me.

I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being at
my uncle Harlowe's. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brother
and Mr. Solmes--Astonishing!--What complicated wickedness has this
wretched man to answer for!--Were I to tell you, you would hardly believe
that there could have been such a heart in man.--

But one day you may know the whole story!--At present I have neither
inclination nor words--O my bursting heart!--Yet a happy, a wished
relief!--Were you present my tears would supply the rest!

***

I resume my pen!

And so you fear no letter will be received from me. But DON'T grieve to
tell me so! I expect every thing bad--and such is my distress, that had
you not bid me hope for mercy from the throne of mercy, I should have
been afraid that my father's dreadful curse would be completed with
regard to both worlds.

For here, an additional misfortune!--In a fit of phrensical heedlessness,
I sent a letter to my beloved Miss Howe, without recollecting her private
address; and it has fallen into her angry mother's hands: and so that
dear friend perhaps has anew incurred displeasure on my account. And
here too your worthy son is ill; and my poor Hannah, you think, cannot
come to me--O my dear Mrs. Norton, will you, can you censure those whose
resentments against me Heaven seems to approve of? and will you acquit
her whom that condemns?

Yet you bid me not despond.--I will not, if I can help it. And, indeed,
most seasonable consolation has your kind letter afforded me.--Yet to God
Almighty do I appeal, to avenge my wrongs, and vindicate my inno----

But hushed be my stormy passions!--Have I not but this moment said that
your letter gave me consolation?--May those be forgiven who hinder my
father from forgiving me!--and this, as to them, shall be the harshest
thing that shall drop from my pen.

But although your son should recover, I charge you, my dear Mrs. Norton,
that you do not think of coming to me. I don't know still but your
mediation with my mother (although at present your interposition would be
so little attended to) may be of use to procure me the revocation of that
most dreadful part of my father's curse, which only remains to be
fulf