True, I once looked forward to the
happy period of our union, when I might have offered myself to you,
not as a portionless bride; but I was checked by one maddening,
burning, inextingishable thought. I could not be received into that
society to which you were entitled. I felt that I loved you, Frank;
loved you too well to betray you. The woman that had so little respect
for herself, was unfit to be the wife of Francis Mildmay.
"Besides, how could I do my sweet boy the injustice to allow him to
have brothers and sisters possessing legitimate advantages over him?
I felt that our union never could be one of happiness, even if you
consented to take me as your wife, of which I had my doubts; and when
I discovered, through my emissaries, that you were on the point of
marriage with Miss Somerville, I felt that it was all for the best;
that I had no right to complain; the more so as it was I who (I blush
to say it) had seduced you.
"But, Frank, if I cannot be your wife--and alas! I know too well that
that is impossible--will you allow me to be your friend, your dear
friend, as the mother of your child, or, if you please, as your
sister? But there the sacred line is drawn; it is a compact between
my God and myself. You know my firmness and decision; once maturely
deliberated, my resolution formed, it is not, I think, in man to turn
me. Do not, therefore, make the attempt; it will only end in your
certain defeat and shame, and in my withdrawing from your sight for
ever.
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