“For three years I am a prisoner.  I go to the Conservatorio in Milan with Mr. Pericles, and my poor little mother, who cries, asking me where she will be among such a people, until I wonder she should be my mother.  My voice has returned.  Oh, Merthyr! my dear, calm friend! to keep calling you friend, and friend, puts me to sleep softly!—­Yes, I have my voice.  I felt I had it, like some one in a room with us when we will not open our eyes.  There was misery everywhere, and yet I was glad.  I kept it secret.  I began to feel myself above the world.  I dreamed of what I would do for everybody.  I thought of you least!  I tell you so, and take a scourge and scourge myself, for it is true that in her new joy this miserable creature that I am thought of you least.  Now I have the punishment!

“My friend! the Poles were at the mercy of Mr. Pericles:  Wilfrid had struck him:  Mr. Pericles was angry and full of mischief.  Those dear people had been kind to me, and I heard they were poor.  I felt money in my breast, in my throat, that only wanted coining.  I went to Georgiana, and oh! how truly she proved to me that she loves you better than I do.  She refused to part with money that you might soon want.  I laid a scheme for Mr. Pericles to hear me sing.  He heard me, and my scheme succeeded.  If Italy knew as well as I, she would never let her voice be heard till she is sure of it:—­Yes! from foot to head, I knew it was impossible to fail.  If a country means to be free, the fire must run through it and make it feel that certainty.  Then—­away the whitecoat!  I sang, and the man twisted, as if I had bent him in my hand.  He rushed to me, and offered me any terms I pleased, if for three years I would go to the Conservatorio at Milan, and learn submissively.  It is a little grief to me that I think this man loves music more deeply than I do.  In the two things I love best, the love of others exceeds mine.  I named a sum of money—­immense! and I desired that Mr. Pericles should assist Mr. Pole in his business.  He consented at once to everything.  The next day he gave me the money, and I signed my name and pledged my honour to an engagement.  My friends were relieved.

“It was then I began to think of you.  I had not to study the matter long to learn that I did not love you:  and I will not trust my own feelings as they come to me now.  I judge myself by my acts, or, Merthyr!  I should sink to the ground like a dead body when I think of separation from you for three years.  But, what am I?  I am a raw girl.  I command nothing but raw and flighty hearts of men.  Are they worth anything?  Let me study three years, without any talk of hearts at all.  It commenced too early, and has left nothing to me but a dreadful knowledge of the weakness in most people:—­not in you!