I used every art, every persuasion, in the power of friendship, to prevent her going till your brother came down; but all I said was in vain.  She told me, she knew too well her own weakness to hazard seeing him; that she also knew his tenderness, and was resolved to spare him the struggle between his affection and his duty; that she was determined never to marry him but with the consent of his mother; that their meeting at Quebec, situated as they were, could only be the source of unhappiness to both; that her heart doated on him, but that she would never be the cause of his acting in a manner unworthy his character:  that she would see his family the moment she got to London, and then retire to the house of a relation in Berkshire, where she would wait for his arrival.

That she had given you her promise, which nothing should make her break, to embark in the first ship for England.

She expressed no fears for herself as to the voyage, but trembled at the idea of her Rivers’s danger.

She sat down several times yesterday to write to him, but her tears prevented her:  she at last assumed courage enough to tell him her design; but it was in such terms as convinced me she could not have pursued it, had he been here.

She went to the ship with an appearance of calmness that astonished me; but the moment she entered, all her resolution forsook her:  she retired with me to her room, where she gave way to all the agony of her soul.

The word was given to sail; I was summoned away; she rose hastily, she pressed me to her bosom, “Tell him, said she, his Emily”—­she could say no more.

Never in my life did I feel any sorrow equal to this separation.  Love her, my Lucy; you can never have half the tenderness for her she merits.

She stood on the deck till the ship turned Point Levi, her eyes fixed passionately on our boat.

Twelve o’clock.

I have this moment a letter from your brother to Emily, which she directed me to open, and send to her; I inclose it to you, as the safest way of conveyance:  there is one in it from Temple to him, on the same subject with yours to me.

Adieu!  I will write again when my mind is more composed.

      Yours,
          A. Fermor.

LETTER 148.

To Miss Montague, at Silleri.

Montreal, May 28.

It was my wish, my hope, my noblest ambition, my dear Emily, to see you in a situation worthy of you; my sanguine temper flattered me with the idea of seeing this wish accomplished in Canada, though fortune denied it me in England.

The letter which I inclose has put an end to those fond delusive hopes:  I must return immediately to England; did not my own heart dictate this step, I know too well the goodness of yours, to expect the continuance of your esteem, were I capable of purchasing happiness, even the happiness of calling you mine, at the expence of my mother’s life, or even of her quiet.