United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"Your faith is very unreasonable, my dear."
"Perhaps so, but it exists nevertheless."
"Have you answered his letter?"
"Yes, sir; and I have brought my answer for you to read, if you care to
do so," she said, taking her letter out of her desk, which lay in her
lap, and giving it to her uncle, who read as follows:
"MY DEAR ROBERT:--I am not in the least surprised by your letter. I
knew you would offer to release me from my engagement, because I
knew you were a man of honor. I have never for a moment doubted
that, and I do not doubt it now. Your character weighs more with me
than any mere facts can. I know you are an honorable man, and
knowing that I shall not let other people's doubts upon the subject
govern my action. When I 'listened to your words of love, and gave
them a place in my heart,' you were, as you say, 'a gentleman
without reproach'; and the reproach which lies upon you now does not
make you less a gentleman. It is an unjust reproach, and your
manliness in bearing it and offering to accept its consequences,
only serves to mark you still more distinctly as a gentleman. Shall
I be less honorable, less fearlessly true than you? When I gave you
my heart and promised you my hand, you had friends in abundance. Now
that you have none, I have no idea of withdrawing either the gift or
the promise.
"You say you can never clear your name of the stain which is upon
it now. For that I am heartily sorry, for your sake, but as I know
that the stain does not rightly belong there it becomes my duty and
my pleasure to bear it with you. I shall retain my faith in you and
my love for you, and I shall profess them too on all proper
occasions, and when you claim me as your wife I shall hold up Mrs.
Robert Pagebrook's head as proudly as I now hold Susan Barksdale's.
"Under other circumstances I should have thought it unmaidenly to
write in this way, but there must be no doubt of my meaning now. If
you ever ask a release from your promise, with or without reason, I
trust you know me well enough to know that it will be granted--but
from my promise I shall ask none. Another reason for the frankness
of this letter is that I want you, in your trouble, to know how
implicitly I trust your honor; and I should certainly never trust
such a letter in any but the cleanest of hands.
"Uncle Carter will see this before it goes, and he will know, as it
is right that he should, that I have not availed myself of your
proffered release...."
The omitted sentences with which the letter closed are not for our eyes.
Even Colonel Barksdale refused to read them, feeling that they were
sacred, and that the permission given him to read the letter extended no
further than the end of the sentence last set down in the extract above
given.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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