Your worst torment is to come, mine has already been with me. When
my miseries first fell upon me, I thought that I must die. Why
should I live on--why should I not die? The sea was near, and it
buries deep. I thought of all the people that live on the great
earth, and I said to myself that the soul of one poor girl could not
count, that it could concern no one but myself. It was clear to me
--I must die and end all.

But there came to me a voice in the night which said: "Is thy life
thine own to give or to destroy?" It was clearer than my own
thinking. It told my heart that death by one's own hand meant
shame; and I saw then that to find rest I must drag unwilling feet
over the good name and memory of my dead loved ones. Then I
remembered my mother. If you had remembered her perhaps you would
have guarded the gift of my love and not have trampled it under your
feet--I remembered my mother, and so I live still.

I must go on alone, with naught of what makes life bearable; you
will keep climbing higher by your vanity, your strength, and your
deceit. But yet I know however high you climb you will never find
peace. You will remember me, and your spirit will seek in vain for
rest. You will not exist for me, you will not be even a memory; but
even against your will I shall always be part of you: of your brain,
of your heart, of your soul--the thought of me your torment in your
greatest hour. Your passion and your cowardice have lost me all;
and God will punish you, be sure of that.

There is little more to say. If it lies in my power I shall never
see you again while I live. And you will not wish it. Yes, in
spite of your eloquent letter lying here beside me, you do not wish