Be it so: he that cannot command felicity may at least deserve it. You may possibly be obliged to honour with your esteem the man whom you did not deign to answer. I am young, and may, perchance, one day, merit the regard of which I am now unworthy. In the mean time, it is necessary that I should restore to you that repose which I have lost for ever, and of which you are, by my presence, in spite of myself, deprived. It is but just that I alone should suffer, since I alone am guilty. Adieu, too, too charming Eloisa! Resume your tranquillity, and be again happy. Tomorrow I am gone for ever. But be assured, that my violent, spotless passion for you, will end only with my life; that my heart, full of so divine an object, will never debase itself by admitting a second impression; that it will divide all its future homage between you and virtue, and that no other flame shall ever profane the altar where Eloisa was adored. Billet I. From Eloisa. Be not too positive in your opinion that your absence is become necessary. A virtuous heart will overcome its folly, or be silent, and so might, perhaps, in time----But you----you may stay. Answer. I was a long time silent; your cold indifference forced me to speak at last. Virtue may possibly get the better of folly, but who can bear to be despised by one they love? I must be gone. Billet II. From Eloisa. No, Sir; after what you have seemed to feel; after what you have dared to tell me; a man, such as you feign yourself, will not fly; he will do more. Answer. I have feigned nothing except the _moderate_ passion of a heart filled with despair. To-morrow you shall be satisfied; and notwithstanding all you can say, the effort will be less painful than to fly from you. Billet III. From Eloisa. Foolish youth! if my life be dear to thee, do not dare to attempt thy own. I am beset, and can neither speak nor write to you till to- morrow. Wait. Letter IV. From Eloisa. Must I then, at last, confess, the fatal, the ill-disguised, secret! How often have I sworn that it should never burst from my heart but with my life! Thy danger wrests it from me. It is gone, and my honour is lost for ever. Alas, I have but too religiously performed my vow; can there be a death more cruel than to survive one’s honour?