Too late is it now, even if I would, to recall my promise.

I have promised to part with you. In the first tumult of my soul, on
receiving the enclosed letters, I wrote an answer, assuring Mrs. Fielder
of my absolute concurrence with her will.

Already does my heart, calling up thy beloved image; reflecting on the
immense debt which I owe to your generosity, on the disappointment which
the tidings of my journey will give you; already do I repent of my
precipitation.

I have sought repose, but I find it not. My pillow is moist with the
bitterest tears that I ever shed. To give vent to my swelling heart, I
write to you; but I must now stop. All my former self is coming back upon
me, and, while I think of you as of my true and only friend, I shall be
unable to persist. I will not part with thee, my friend. I cannot do it.
Has not my life been solemnly devoted to compensate thee for thy unmerited
love? For the crosses and vexations thou hast endured for my sake?

Why shall I forsake thee? To gratify a wayward and groundless
prejudice. To purchase the short-lived and dubious affection of one who
loves me in proportion as I am blind to thy merit; as I forget thy
benefits; as I countenance the envy and slander that pursue thee.

Yet what shall I bring to thy arms? A blasted reputation, poverty,
contempt, the indignation of mine and of thy friends. For thou art poor,
and so am I. Thy kindred have antipathies for me as strong as those that
are fostered against thyself----