His haste and secrecy had, perhaps, another object. It precluded those farewells which are the most touching to those who encounter the chances of war. In Buckingham’s case, the parting with his wife, whom he might never see again, must have been mingled with self-reproach as well as sorrow. He evaded it therefore by flight, notwithstanding a promise that he should see her again, nay even by an assurance that he should not go with the expedition to Rhé.[28] This conduct wounded the poor Duchess to the heart, and it was perhaps these traits of conduct that alienated her affections, and made her less reluctant to a second marriage than might have been expected from one of her gentle nature. Buckingham’s apparent neglect would have been inexplicable were it not remembered how completely an unhallowed passion for another severs and rends all domestic ties; and that, long before the links are broken, they are loosened by the first deviation from duty, even in thought. The following letters were probably found among the Duke’s papers at the time of his death, and so conveyed to the State-Paper Office, where they have remained buried--the words of reproach and sorrow, unheeded and unknown. They are evidently strictly confidential; but they explain and excuse, if anything can excuse, the after-conduct of the Duchess. Much that followed the Duke’s decease is accounted for in this epistle:-- "MY LORD,--Now as I do to plainly se you have deceved me, and if I judge you according to y^r one[29] words I must condemn you not only in this hut in your accation[30] you so much forswore. I confese I deed ever fere you wood be catched, for there was no other likelyhoode after all that showe but you must needs go--for my part, but I have bine a very miserable woman hitherto that never could have you keepe at home, but now I will ever looke to be so till some blessed ocasion comes to draw you quite from the Cort, for ther is non more miserable than I am, and till you leve this life of a cortyer w^{ch} you have bine ever since I knewe you, I shall ever thynke myself unhappye. I am the unfortunate of all outher, that ever when I am w^{th} child I must have so much cause of sorrow as to have you go from me, but I never had so great a cause of greeve as now. I hope God of his mercie give me patience, and if I were sure my soule wood be well I could wish myself to be out of this miserable world, for till then I shall not be happye: now I will no more right to hope you do not goe, but must betake myself to my prayers for your safe and prosperous jorney w^{ch} I will not fayle to do, and for your quicke returne: but never, whilst I live, will I trust you agane, nor never will put you to your oathe for any thinge agane. I wonder why you sent me word by _crowe_[31] that you wood se me shortly, to put me in hopes: I pray God never woman may love a man as I have done you that non may fele that w^{ch} I have done for you: sence ther is no remedy