Mrs Gerrarde has never called or sent to me since I was at her house. She has effected her purpose, and is contented without a triumph. I am prepared for my departure. To-morrow I turn my back upon my husband's house, and upon my children. I have been weeping over them this hour as they lie asleep in their nurse's arms. But I will look at them no more.--Poor Patty is almost dead with grief; she would fain go with me, but I have persuaded her to stay: I can rely on her fidelity and her tenderness towards my children; she says, she _will_ be as precious of them as the apple of her eyes, and will give me an account of their welfare from time to time. Sure Mr Arnold will not turn _her_ out too; she is an excellent manager, and he cannot do without a housekeeper. I have been debating with myself whether I should write to Mr Arnold or not, and have at length determined to depart in silence. It is an easy matter for the guilty to make as bold asseverations as the innocent, and nothing which I could now assert would make an impression on him. Had I only his suspicions to combat, there might be hopes: but his _heart_ is alienated from me; and while it continues attached to another, I despair of his listening to the voice of reason or of justice. If ever his eyes are opened, his error will prove sufficient punishment to him--Perhaps my mother or my brother may put me in a way--My conduct, in time, I hope, may justify me--Mean while I will not condescend to the weak justification of words. _September 18_ I have bid adieu to South-park, and arrived this morning in London in a hired carriage, for I would not take one of Mr Arnold's. I found my mother at the house in St James's-street, where I now am: she got here late last night, and my letter had thrown her into agonies, from which she had not yet recovered. What have you wrote to me, said she, as she held me in her arms? your dreadful letter has almost killed me--Sure, sure, my dear child, it cannot be true that you have left your husband! What is the cause? What have _you_ done? or, What has _he_ done? I begged my mother to compose herself a little, and then related to her every circumstance, in the same manner you have had them as they occurred. Her lamentations pierced my heart; she wrung her hands in bitterness of anguish; Why did not the grave hide me, said she, before I saw shame and sorrow heaped upon my child. I came to die in peace with you--You might have lengthened my days for a while--But you cut them off--My eyes will close in affliction--A wounded spirit who can bear! Had you died in your cradle, we had both been happy. My child would now have been a cherub, an angel you would have been in my eyes, and I am punished for it; but that was _my_ crime, not your's. But you are a martyr to the crimes of others.