“The deed is done, and I am virtually a free man.
Mrs. H. took the oath on Friday. . .
. . What had I better do in these circumstances? . . . . She [Miss W.] has shot me through with poisoned
arrows, and I think another winged wound would finish me. It is a pleasant sort
of balm she has left in my heart. One thing I agree with you in, it will remain
there for ever, but yet not very long. It festers and consumes me. If it were
not for my little boy, whose face I see
struck blank at the news, and looking through the world for pity, and meeting
with contempt, I should soon settle the question by my death. That is the only
thought that brings my wandering reason to an anchor, that
| CORRESPONDENCE WITH PATMORE. | 55 |
“Will you call at Mr. Dawson’s school, Hunter Street, and tell the little boy I’ll write to him or see him on Saturday morning. Poor little fellow! See Colburn for me about the book. The letter, I take it, was from him.”
