Sept. 28.—­After a struggle between duty and selfishness, such as I pray to Heaven I may never have to undergo again, I have asked him for pity’s sake to make her his wife, here and now, as she lies.  I said to him that the poor child would not trouble him long; and such a solemnization would soothe her last hours as nothing else could do.  He said that he would willingly do so, and had thought of it himself; but for one forbidding reason:  in the event of her death as his wife he can never marry me, her sister, according to our laws.  I started at his words.  He went on:  ’On the other hand, if I were sure that immediate marriage with me would save her life, I would not refuse, for possibly I might after a while, and out of sight of you, make myself fairly content with one of so sweet a disposition as hers; but if, as is probable, neither my marrying her nor any other act can avail to save her life, by so doing I lose both her and you.’  I could not answer him.

Sept. 29.—­He continued firm in his reasons for refusal till this morning, and then I became possessed with an idea, which I at once propounded to him.  It was that he should at least consent to a form of marriage with Caroline, in consideration of her love; a form which need not be a legal union, but one which would satisfy her sick and enfeebled soul.  Such things have been done, and the sentiment of feeling herself his would inexpressibly comfort her mind, I am sure.  Then, if she is taken from us, I should not have lost the power of becoming his lawful wife at some future day, if it indeed should be deemed expedient; if, on the other hand, she lives, he can on her recovery inform her of the incompleteness of their marriage contract, the ceremony can be repeated, and I can, and I am sure willingly would, avoid troubling them with my presence till grey hairs and wrinkles make his unfortunate passion for me a thing of the past.  I put all this before him; but he demurred.

Sept. 30.—­I have urged him again.  He says he will consider.  It is no time to mince matters, and as a further inducement I have offered to enter into a solemn engagement to marry him myself a year after her death.

Sept. 30.  Later.—­An agitating interview.  He says he will agree to whatever I propose, the three possibilities and our contingent acts being recorded as follows:  First, in the event of dear Caroline being taken from us, I marry him on the expiration of a year:  Second, in the forlorn chance of her recovery I take upon myself the responsibility of explaining to Caroline the true nature of the ceremony he has gone through with her, that it was done at my suggestion to make her happy at once, before a special licence could be obtained, and that a public ceremony at church is awaiting her:  Third, in the unlikely event of her cooling, and refusing to repeat the ceremony with him, I leave England, join him abroad, and there wed him, agreeing not to live in England again till Caroline has either married another or regards her attachment to Charles as a bygone matter.  I have thought over these conditions, and have agreed to them all as they stand.