STRATHALLAN TO MATILDA

'I make you a prisoner. I shut you out from society. The very air is grown hateful to you, since it may be shared with me. – It is enough: – I yield. The morning has dawned upon the third day passed at a distance from – you. Days, welcomed by you as the return of tranquillity and pleasure. By me! – Oh! Matilda, you never knew the pangs of absence: – suffice it, they are past.

But I am not forbidden to write. I will make one more attempt. It is yet / time. Could I see you, I am sure I have arguments of force to move you; but, repulsed by your family, – denied your sight. – At your house I am received by your mother with a look that chills my hopes, or by that mournful nun, in whose very aspect I, shuddering, read a fearful omen of eternal separation.

Dear, dear Matilda! in adversity how doubly dear! – Yet why should I call that adversity which brings me nearer you? You say I have no right to urge my plea: – yes, loveliest, I have a right, a claim, – sorrow has made you mine; and here I solemnly swear to renounce all bonds, but those she has twined around me.

Vain arguments! – they will not change the sternness of your immoveable determination. – Yet still I write – I experience no cessation from torment, but in action. While I am thus employed, I do not wholly yield to despair. – Each plan attempted supposes possibility. When I recal the last delightful hours we passed together; when I behold your mild features beaming on others with interest or compassion, I cannot, no, I cannot believe that heart can be steeled against me alone. It is but too true; and my life, for this last year, has been a sweet, fallacious dream.