I resolved,
therefore, that if my immediate union with my cousin would conduce
either to hers or my father's happiness, my adversary's designs against
my life should not retard it a single hour.
In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and
affectionate. "I fear, my beloved girl," I said, "little happiness
remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in
you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life
and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a
dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with
horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only
wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of
misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place,
for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But
until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most
earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply."
In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter we returned to
Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were
in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I
saw a change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that
heavenly vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and
soft looks of compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted
and miserable as I was.
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