Has your barbarous hand then dared to break the gentle union formed under your eye, even almost from infancy, and which your friendship seemed to share with so much pleasure? I am now as wretched as you would have me, and as there is a possibility of being. Do you conceive all the evil you have done? are you sensible that you have torn me from my soul? that what I have lost is beyond redemption, and that it is better to die an hundred times, than not to live for each other? why do you urge the happiness of Eloisa? can she be happy without contentment? why do you mention the danger of her mother? ah! what is the life of a mother, of mine, of yours, of hers itself, what is the existence of the whole world, to the delightful sensation by which we were united? O senseless and savage virtue! I obey thy unmeaning voice, I abhor thee, while I sacrifice all to thy dictates. What avail thy vain consolations against the distressful agonies of the soul? go, thou sullen idol of the unhappy, thou only knowest to augment their misery, by depriving them of the resources which fortune offers: yet I obey; yes, cruel friend, I obey; I will become, if possible, as insensible and savage as yourself. I will forget every thing upon earth that was dear to me. I will no longer hear or pronounce Eloisa’s name, or yours. I will no more recall their insupportable remembrance. An inflexible vexation and rage shall preserve me from such misfortunes. A steady obstinacy shall supply the place of courage: I have paid too dearly for my sensibility; it were better to renounce humanity itself. Letter XCVII. From Mrs. Orbe. Your letter is indeed extremely pathetic, but there is so much love and virtue in your conduct, that it effaces the bitterness of your complaints: you are so generous, that I have not the courage to quarrel with you; for whatever extravagancies we may commit, if we are still capable of sacrificing all that is dear to us, we deserve praise rather than reproach; therefore, notwithstanding your abuse, you never was so dear to me, as since you have made me so fully sensible of your worth. Return thanks to that virtue you believe you hate, and which does more for you than even your love. There is not one of us, not even my aunt, whom you have not gained by a sacrifice, the value of which she well knows. She could not read your letter without melting into tears: she had even the weakness to shew it to her daughter; but poor Eloisa’s endeavours while she read it, to stifle her sighs and tears, quite overcame her, and she fainted away.