_Leonora to her mother._
Yarmouth.
My husband is alive, and that is all. Never did I see, nor could I have conceived, such a change, and in so short a time! When I opened the door, his eyes turned upon me with unmeaning eagerness: he did not know me. The good general thought my voice might have some effect. I spoke, but could obtain no answer, no sign of intelligence. In vain I called upon him by every name that used to reach his heart. I kneeled beside him, and took one of his burning hands in mine. I kissed it, and suddenly he started up, exclaiming, "Olivia! Olivia!" with dreadful vehemence. In his delirium he raved about Olivia"s stabbing herself, and called upon us to hold her arm, looking wildly towards the foot of the bed, as if the figure were actually before him. Then he sunk back, as if quite exhausted, and gave a deep sigh. Some of my tears fell upon his hand; he felt them before I perceived that they had fallen, and looked so earnestly in my face, that I was in hopes his recollection was returning; but he only said, "Olivia, I believe that you love me;" then sighed more deeply than before, drew his hand away from me, and, as well as I could distinguish, said something about Leonora.
But why should I give you the pain of hearing all these circ.u.mstances, my dear mother? It is enough to say, that he pa.s.sed a dreadful night.
This morning the physicians say, that if he pa.s.ses this night--if----my dear mother, what a terrible suspense!
Leonora L----.
Letter c.
_Leonora to her mother._
Yarmouth.
Morning is at last come, and my husband is still alive: so there is yet hope. When I said I thought I could bear to survive him, how little I knew of myself, and how little, how very little I expected to be so soon tried! All evils are remediable but one, that one which I dare not name.
The physicians a.s.sure me that he is better. His friend, to whose judgment I trust more, thinks as they do. I know not what to believe. I dread to flatter myself and to be disappointed. I will write again, dearest mother, to-morrow.
Your ever affectionate Leonora L----.
Letter ci.
_Leonora to her mother._
Wednesday.
No material change since yesterday, my dear mother. This morning, as I was searching for some medicine, I saw on the chimney-piece a note from Lady Olivia ----. It might have been there yesterday, and ever since my arrival, but I did not see it. At any other time it would have excited my indignation, but my mind is now too much weakened by sorrow. My fears for my husband"s life absorb all other feelings.
Letter cij.
_Olivia to Mr L----._
Richmond.
Words cannot express what I have suffered since I wrote last! Oh! why do I not hear that the danger is over!--Long since would I have been with you, all that my soul holds dear, could I have escaped from these tyrants, these medical despots, who detain me by absolute force, and watch over me with unrelenting vigilance. I have consulted Dr ***, who a.s.sures me that my fears of my wound opening, were I to take so long a journey, are too well-founded; that in the present feverish state of my mind he would not answer for the consequences. I heed him not--life I value not.--Most joyfully would I sacrifice myself for the man I love.
But even could I escape from my persecutors, too well I know that to see you would be a vain attempt--too well I know that I should not be admitted. Your love, your fears for Olivia would barbarously banish her and forbid her your dear, your dangerous atmosphere. Too justly would you urge that my rashness might prove our mutual ruin--that in the moment of crisis or of convalescence, anxiety for me might defeat the kind purpose of nature. And even were I secure of your recovery, the delay, I speak not of the danger of my catching the disease, would, circ.u.mstanced as we are, be death to our hopes. We should be compelled to part. The winds would waft you from me. The waves would bear you to another region, far--oh, far from your
Olivia.
Letter ciij.
_General B---- to the d.u.c.h.ess of ----_
Yarmouth, Thursday, --.
My dear Madam,
Mr L---- has had a relapse, and is now more alarmingly ill than I have yet seen him: he does not know his situation, for his delirium has returned. The physicians give him over. Dr H---- says that we must prepare for the worst.
I have but one word of comfort for your grace--that your admirable daughter"s health has not yet suffered.
Your grace"s faithful servant, J. B.
Letter civ.
_Leonora to her mother._
Yarmouth.
My dearest Mother,
The delirium has subsided. A few minutes ago, as I was kneeling beside him, offering up an almost hopeless prayer for his recovery, his eyes opened, and I perceived that he knew me. He closed his eyes again without speaking, opened them once more, and then looking at me fixedly, exclaimed: "It is not a dream! You are Leonora!--_my_ Leonora!"
What exquisite pleasure I felt at the sound of these words, at the tone in which they were p.r.o.nounced! My husband folded me in his arms; and, till I felt his burning lips, I forgot that he was ill.
When he came thoroughly to his recollection, and when the idea that his fever might be infectious occurred to him, he endeavoured to prevail upon me to leave the room. But what danger can there be for me _now_? My whole soul, my whole frame is inspired with new life. If he recover, your daughter may still be happy.
Letter cv.
_General B---- to the d.u.c.h.ess of ----._