pains to procure could not be foreseen. My heart was too pure to admit
even such a guest as apprehension, and the only information I possessed
respecting you impressed me with the notion that your heart already
belonged to another.

I sought nothing but your society and your esteem. If the fetters of my
promise to Talbot became irksome after my knowledge of you, I was
unconscious of the true cause. This promise never for a moment lost its
obligation with me. I deemed myself as much the wife of Talbot as if I had
stood with him at the altar.

At the prospect of his return, my melancholy was excruciating, but the
cause was unknown to me. I had nothing to wish, with regard to you, but to
see you occasionally, to hear your voice, and to be told that you were
happy. It never occurred to me that Talbot's return would occasion any
difference in this respect. Conscious of nothing but rectitude in my
regard for you, always frank and ingenuous in disclosing my feelings, I
imagined that Talbot would adopt you as warmly for his friend as I had
done.

I must grant that I erred in this particular, but my error sprung from
ignorance unavoidable. I judged of others by my own heart, and very
sillily imagined that Talbot would continue to be satisfied with that cold
and friendly regard for which only my vows made me answerable. Yet my
husband's jealousies and discontents were not unreasonable. He loved me
with passion; and, if that sentiment can endure to be unrequited, it will
never tolerate the preference of another, even if that preference be less
than love.

In compliance with my husband's wishes--Ah! my friend! why cannot I say