What she bid you, and what she forbid you, to tell me, (the latter for tender considerations:) that she forgives me; and that, could she have made me a good man, she would have made me a happy one!  That she even loved me!  At such a moment to own that she once loved me!  Never before loved any man!  That she prays for me!  That her last tear should be shed for me, could she by it save a soul, doomed, without her, to perdition!—­ O Belford!  Belford!  I cannot bear it!—­What a dog, what a devil have I been to a goodness so superlative!—­Why does she not inveigh against me?  —­Why does she not execrate me?—­O the triumphant subduer!  Ever above me!—­And now to leave me so infinitely below her!

Marry and repair, at any time; this, wretch that I was, was my plea to myself.  To give her a lowering sensibility; to bring her down from among the stars which her beamy head was surrounded by, that my wife, so greatly above me, might not despise me; this was one of my reptile motives, owing to my more reptile envy, and to my consciousness of inferiority to her!—­Yet she, from step to step, from distress to distress, to maintain her superiority; and, like the sun, to break out upon me with the greater refulgence for the clouds that I had contrived to cast about her!—­And now to escape me thus!—­No power left me to repair her wrongs!—­No alleviation to my self-reproach!—­No dividing of blame with her!—­

Tell her, O tell her, Belford, that her prayers and wishes, her superlatively-generous prayers and wishes, shall not be vain:  that I can, and do repent—­and long have repented.—­Tell her of my frequent deep remorses—­it was impossible that such remorses should not at last produce effectual remorse—­yet she must not leave me—­she must live, if she would wish to have my contrition perfect—­For what can despair produce?

***

I will do every thing you would have me do, in the return of your letters.  You have infinitely obliged me by this last, and by pressing for an admission for me, though it succeeded not.

Once more, how could I be such a villain to so divine a creature!  Yet love her all the time, as never man loved woman!—­Curse upon my contriving genius!—­Curse upon my intriguing head, and upon my seconding heart!—­To sport with the fame, with the honour, with the life, of such an angel of a woman!—­O my d——­d incredulity!  That, believing her to be a woman, I must hope to find her a woman!  On my incredulity, that there could be such virtue (virtue for virtue’s sake) in the sex, founded I my hope of succeeding with her.

But say not, Jack, that she must leave us yet.  If she recover, and if I can but re-obtain her favour, then, indeed, will life be life to me.  The world never saw such an husband as I will make.  I will have no will but her’s.  She shall conduct me in all my steps.  She shall open and direct my prospects, and turn every motion of my heart as she pleases.