LETTER LXXIII

Miss Clarissa Harlowe, to miss Howe
Tuesday, July 11.

Forgive you, my dear!—­Most cordially do I forgive you—­Will you forgive me for some sharp things I wrote in return to your’s of the 5th?  You could not have loved me as you do, nor had the concern you have always shown for my honour, if you had not been utterly displeased with me, on the appearance which my conduct wore to you when you wrote that letter.  I most heartily thank you, my best and only love, for the opportunity you gave me of clearing it up; and for being generously ready to acquit me of intentional blame, the moment you had read my melancholy narrative.

As you are so earnest to have all the particulars of my sad story before you, I will, if life and spirits be lent me, give you an ample account of all that has befallen me, from the time you mention.  But this, it is very probable, you will not see, till after the close of my last scene:  and as I shall write with a view to that, I hope no other voucher will be wanted for the veracity of the writer, be who will the reader.

I am far from thinking myself out of the reach of this man’s further violence.  But what can I do?  Whither can I fly?—­Perhaps my bad state of health (which must grow worse, as recollection of the past evils, and reflections upon them, grow heavier and heavier upon me) may be my protection.  Once, indeed, I thought of going abroad; and, had I the prospect of many years before me, I would go.—­But, my dear, the blow is given.—­Nor have you reason now, circumstanced as I am, to be concerned that it is.  What a heart must I have, if it be not broken—­and indeed, my dear friend, I do so earnestly wish for the last closing scene, and with so much comfort find myself in a declining way, that I even sometimes ungratefully regret that naturally-healthy constitution, which used to double upon me all my enjoyments.

As to the earnestly-recommended prosecution, I may possibly touch upon it more largely hereafter, if ever I shall have better spirits; for they are at present extremely sunk and low.  But just now, I will only say, that I would sooner suffer every evil (the repetition of the capital one excepted) than appear publicly in a court to do myself justice.* And I am heartily grieved that your mother prescribes such a measure as the condition of our future correspondence:  for the continuance of your friendship, my dear, and the desire I had to correspond with you to my life’s end, were all my remaining hopes and consolation.  Nevertheless, as that friendship is in the power of the heart, not of the hand only, I hope I shall not forfeit that.

* Dr. Lewen, in Letter XXIV. of Vol.  VIII. presses her to this public prosecution, by arguments worthy of his character; which she answers in a manner worthy of her’s.  See Letter XXV. of that volume.