From the general voice I
expect no clemency. If I can make my peace with my mother, it is all I
seek or wish on this side the grave. In your benevolence I confide for
this. In you I hope to find an intercessor. By the remembrance of our
former affection and happiness, I conjure you, refuse me not At present,
I entreat you to conceal from her this distressing tale. A short,
reprieve is all I ask." "Why," said I, "should you defer it? When the
painful task is over, you may find relief in her lenient kindness."
"After she knows my condition, I cannot see her," resumed she, "till I
am assured of her forgiveness. I have not strength to support the
appearance of her anger and grief. I will write to her what I cannot
speak. You must bear the melancholy message, and plead for me, that her
displeasure may not follow me to the grave, whither I am rapidly
hastening." "Be assured," replied I, "that I will keep your secret as
long as prudence requires. But I must leave you now; your mamma will
wonder at our being thus closeted together. When opportunity presents,
we will converse further on the subject. In the mean time keep yourself
as composed as possible, if you would avoid suspicion." She raised her
clasped hands, and with a piteous look, threw her handkerchief over her
face, and reclined in her chair, without speaking a word. I returned to
my chamber, and endeavored to dissipate every idea which might tend to
disorder my countenance, and break the silence I wished to observe
relative to what had happened.
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