M. M.--Mr. Murray Undeceived and Avenged

Tontine had what is called tact and common sense, and thinking these
qualities were required in our economy she behaved with great delicacy,
not going to bed before receiving my letters, and never coming into my
room except in a proper dress, and all this pleased me. For a fortnight
M---- M---- was so ill that I expected every moment to hear the news of her
death. On Shrove Tuesday C---- C---- wrote that her friend was not strong
enough to read my letter, and that she was going to receive 'extreme
unction'. This news so shocked me that I could not rise, and passed the
whole day in weeping and writing, Tonine not leaving me till midnight. I
could not sleep. On Ash Wednesday I got a letter, in which C---- C---- told
me that the doctor had no hopes for her friend, and that he only gave her
a fortnight to live. A low fever was wasting her away, her weakness was
extreme, and she could scarcely swallow a little broth. She had also the
misfortune to be harassed by her confessor, who made her foretaste all
the terrors of death. I could only solace my grief by writing, and Tonine
now and again made bold to observe that I was cherishing my grief, and
that it would be the death of me. I knew myself that I was making my
anguish more poignant, and that keeping to my bed, continued writing, and
no food, would finally drive me mad. I had told my grief to poor Tonine,
whose chief duty was to wipe away my tears. She had compassion on me.

A few days later, after assuring C---- C---- that if our friend died I
should not survive her, I asked her to tell M---- M---- that if she wanted
me to take care of my life she must promise to let me carry her off on
her recovery.

"I have," I said, "four thousand sequins and her diamonds, which are
worth six thousand; we should, therefore, have a sufficient sum to enable