e freer to my Anna Howe than
Mrs. Norton would do.

* See Vol. VI. Letter LXIII.

I durst not mention it to you at that time, because appearances were so
strong against me, on Mr. Lovelace's getting me again into his power,
(after my escape to Hampstead,) as made you very angry with me when you
answered mine on my second escape. And, soon afterwards, I was put under
that barbarous arrest; so that I could not well touch upon the subject
till now.

Now, therefore, my dearest Miss Howe, let me repeat my earnest request
(for this is not the first time by several that I have been obliged to
chide you on this occasion,) that you will spare my parents, and other
relations, in all your conversations about me. Indeed, I wish they had
thought fit to take other measures with me: But who shall judge for them?
--The event has justified them, and condemned me.--They expected nothing
good of this vile man; he had not, therefore, deceived them: but they
expected other things from me; and I have. And they have the more reason
to be set against me, if (as my aunt Hervey wrote* formerly,) they
intended not to force my inclinations in favour of Mr. Solmes; and if
they believe that my going off was the effect of choice and
premeditation.

* See Vol. III. Letter LII.

I have no desire to be received to favour by them: For why should I sit
down to wish for what I have no reason to expect?--Besides, I could not
look them in the face, if they would receive me. Indeed I could not.
All I have to hope for is, first, that my father will absolve me from his
heavy malediction: and next, for a last blessing. The obtaining of these
favours are needful to my peace of mind.

I have written to my sister; but have only mentioned the absolution.

I am afraid I shall receive a very harsh answer from her: my fault, in
the eyes of my family, is of so enormous a nature, that my first
application will hardly be encouraged. Then they know not (nor perhaps
will believe) that I am so very ill as I am. So that, were I actually to
die before they could have time to take the necessary informations, you
must not blame them too severely. You must call it a fatality. I know
not what you must call it: for, alas! I have made them as miserable as I
am myself. And yet sometimes I think that, were they cheerfully to
pronounce me forgiven, I know not whether my concern for having offended
them would not be augmented: since I imagine that nothing can b