Letter cvi.

_Leonora to her mother._

Yarmouth.

Dearest Mother,

He has slept several hours.--Dr H----, the most skilful of all his physicians, says that we may now expect his recovery. Adieu. The good general will add a line to assure you that I am not deceived, nor too sanguine.

Yours most affectionately, Leonora L----.

_Postscript by General B----._

I have some hopes--that is all I can venture to say to your grace.

Letter cvij.

_Leonora to her mother._

Yarmouth.

Dearest Mother,

Excellent news for you to-day!--Mr L---- is pronounced out of danger. He seems excessively touched by my coming here, and so grateful for the little kindness I have been able to show him during his illness! But, alas! that fatal promise! the recollection of it comes across my mind like a spectre. Mr L---- has never touched upon this subject--I do all in my power to divert his thoughts to indifferent objects.

This morning, when I went into his room, I found him tearing to pieces that note which I mentioned to you a few days ago. He seemed much agitated, and desired to see General B----. They are now together, and were talking so loud in the next room to me, that I was obliged to retire, lest I should overhear secrets. Mr L---- this moment sends for me. If I should not have time to add more, this short letter will satisfy you for to-day.

Leonora L----.

I open my letter to say, that I am not so happy as I was when I began it. I have heard all the circumstances relative to this terrible affair. Mr L---- will go to Russia. I am as far from happiness as ever.

Letter cviij.

_Olivia to Mr L----._

Richmond.

"Say, is not absence death to those that love?"

How just, how beautiful a sentiment! yet cold and callous is that heart which knows not that there is a pang more dreadful than absence--far as the death of lingering torture exceeds, in corporeal sufferance, the soft slumber of expiring nature. Suspense! suspense! compared with thy racking agony, even absence is but the blessed euthanasia of love.

My dearest L----, why this torturing silence? one line, one word, I beseech you, from _your own hand_; say but _I live and love you, my Olivia_. Hour after hour, and day after day, have I waited and waited, and hoped, and feared to hear from you. O, this intolerable agonizing suspense! Yet hope clings to my fond heart--hope! sweet treacherous hope!

"Non so si la Speranza Va con l'inganno unita; So che mantiene in vita Qualche infelici almen."

Olivia.