'Having then examined my heart, attentively and deliberately, I suspect that I have been unjust to myself, in supposing it incapable of a disinterested attachment.--Why am I to deprive you of a faithful friend, and myself of all the benefits I may yet derive from your conversation and kind offices? I ask, why? And I should, indeed, have cause to blush, if, after having had time for reflection, I could really think this necessary. Shall I, then, sign the unjust decree, that women are incapable of energy and fortitude? Have I exercised my understanding, without ever intending to apply my principles to practice? Do I mean always to deplore the prejudices which have, systematically, weakened the female character, without making any effort to rise above them? Is the example you have given me, of a steady adherence to honour and principle, to be merely respected, without exciting in my bosom any emulation? Dare I to answer these questions in the affirmative, and still ask your esteem--the esteem of the wise and good?--I dare not! No longer weakened by alternate hopes and fears, like the reed yielding to every breeze, I believe myself capable of acting upon firmer principles; and I request, with confidence, the restoration of your friendship! Should I afterwards find, that I have over-rated my own strength, I will frankly tell you so, and expect from your humanity those allowances, which are but a poor substitute for respect. 'Believe, then, my views and motives to be simply such as I state them; at least, such, after severely scrutinizing my heart, they appear to myself; and reply to me with similar ingenuousness. My expectations are very moderate: answer me with simplicity--my very soul sickens at evasion! You have undoubtedly, a right to judge and to determine for yourself; but it will be but just to state to me the reasons for, and the result of, that judgment; in which case, if I cannot obviate those reasons, I shall be bound, however reluctantly, to acquiesce in them. Be assured, I will never complain of any consequences which may ensue, even, from the utterance of all truth. 'EMMA.' CHAPTER III