place, and I dare say has left nothing behind her that can or
will come up on it.
I think I had been brought to bed about twenty-two days when
I received another letter from my friend at the bank, with the
surprising news that he had obtained a final sentence of divorce
against his wife, and had served her with it on such a day, and
that he had such an answer to give to all my scruples about his
marrying again, as I could not expect, and as he had no desire
of; for that his wife, who had been under some remorse before
for her usage of him, as soon as she had the account that he
had gained his point, had very unhappily destroyed herself that
same evening.
He expressed himself very handsomely as to his being concerned
at her disaster, but cleared himself of having any hand in it,
and that he had only done himself justice in a case in which he
was notoriously injured and abused. However, he said that
he was extremely afflicted at it, and had no view of any
satisfaction left in his world, but only in the hope that I would
come and relieve him by my company; and then he pressed me
violently indeed to give him some hopes that I would at least
come up to town and let him see me, when he would further
enter into discourse about it.
I was exceedingly surprised at the news, and began now
seriously to reflect on my present circumstances, and the
inexpressible misfortune it was to me to have a child upon my
hands, and what to do in it I knew not. At last I opened my
case at a distance to my governess. I appeared melancholy
and uneasy for several days, and she lay at me continually to
know what trouble me. I could not for my life tell her that I
had an offer of marriage, after I had so often told her that I
had a husband, so that I really knew not what to say to her. I
owned I had something which very much troubled me, but at
the same time told her I could not speak of it to any one alive.
She continued importuning me several days, but it was
impossible, I told her, for me to commit the secret to anybody.
This, instead of being an answer to her, increased her
importunities; she urged her having been trusted with the
greatest secrets of this nature, that it was her business to
conceal everything, and that to discover things of that nature
would be her ruin. She asked me if ever I had found her tattling
to me of other people’s affairs, and how could I suspect her?
She told me, to unfold myself to her was telling it to nobody;
that she was silent as death; that it must be a very strange case
indeed that she could not help me out of; but to conceal it was
to deprive myself of all possible help, or means of help, and to
deprive her of the opportunity of serving me. In short, she had
such a bewitching eloquence, and so great a power of persuasion
that there was no concealing anything from her.
So I resolved to unbosom myself to her. I told her the history
of my Lancashire marriage, and how both of us had been
disappointed; how we came together, and how we parted; how
he absolutely discharged me, as far as lay in him, free liberty to
marry again, protesting that if he knew it he would never claim
me, or disturb or expose me; that I thought I was free, but was
dreadfully afraid to venture, for fear of the consequences that
might follow in case of a discovery.
Then I told her what a good offer I had; showed her my friend’s
two last letters, inviting me to come to London, and let her see
with what affection and earnestness they were written, but
blotted out the name, and also the story about the disaster of
his wife, only that she was dead.
She fell a-laughing at my scruples about marrying, and told