* See Vol.  II.  Letter IV.

You made it out, I remember, very prettily:  but you never made it out, excuse me, my dear, more convincingly, than by that part of your late conduct, which I complain of.

My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have made me a little of the severest.  If you think so, place it to its proper account; to that love, and to that concern:  which will but do justice to

Your afflicted and faithful
A.H.

P.S.  My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter herself;
      and that before I had fixed all the proposed hooks.  She knows, by
      this means, and has excused, our former correspondence.

She indeed suspected it before:  and so she very well might; knowing my
      love of you.

She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it will
      be a consolation to you, and that it will oblige me, she consents
      that you shall write to me the particulars at large of your say
      story.  But it is on condition that I show her all that has passed
      between us, relating to yourself and the vilest of men.  I have the
      more cheerfully complied, as the communication cannot be to your
      disadvantage.

You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house.

My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your
      reply to it; which latter she has but just told me of.  She already
      apologizes for the severity of her’s:  and thinks the sight of your
      reply will affect me too much.  But, having her promise, I will not
      dispense with it.

I doubt her’s is severe enough.  So I fear you will think mine:  but you
      have taught me never to spare the fault for the friend’s sake; and
      that a great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the
      person we value, than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a
      reflection upon our choice of that person, and tends to a breach of
      the love of mind, and to expose us to the world for our partiality. 
      To the love of mind, I repeat; since it is impossible but the
      errors of the dearest friend must weaken our inward opinion of that
      friend; and thereby lay a foundation for future distance, and
      perhaps disgust.

God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had
      escaped from Hampstead; as all before that time was noble,
      generous, and prudent; the man a devil and you a saint!——­Yet I
      hope you can; and therefore expect it from you.

I send by a particular hand.  He will call for your answer at your own
      appointment.

I am afraid this horrid wretch will trace out by the post-offices where
      you are, if not careful.

To have money, and will, and head, to be a villain, is too much for the
      rest of the world, when they meet in one man.