an appearance of being false and mercenary. All I ask of you now, with confidence, is to acquit me of such fault as that.
"When you have read so far you will understand what I mean. We have known each other now somewhat intimately, though indeed not very long, and I have sometimes fancied that you were almost as well pleased to be with me as I have been to be with you. If I have been wrong in this, tell me so simply, and I will endeavor to let our friendship run on as though this letter had not been written. But if I have been right, and if it be possible that you can think that a union between us will make us both happier than we are single, I will plight you my word and troth with good faith, and will do what an old man may do to make the burden of the world lie light upon your shoulders. Looking at my age, I can hardly keep myself from thinking that I am an old fool; but I try to reconcile myself to that by remembering that you yourself are no longer a girl. You see that I pay you no compliments, and that you need expect none from me.
"I do not know that I could add any thing to the truth of this if I were to write three times as much. All that is necessary is that you should know what I mean. If you do not believe me to be true and honest already, nothing that I can write will make you believe it.
"God bless you. I know you will not keep me long in suspense for an answer.Affectionately your friend,Thomas Thorne."
When he had finished, he meditated again for another half hour whether it would not be right that he should add something about her money. Would it not be well for him to tell her—it might be said in a postscript—that with regard to all her wealth she would be free to do what she chose? At any rate, he owed no debts for her to pay, and would still have his own income, sufficient for his own purposes. But about one o'clock he came to the conclusion that it would be better to leave the matter alone. If she cared for him, and could trust him, and was worthy also that he should trust her, no omission of such a statement would deter her from coming to him; and if there were no such trust, it would not be created by any such assurance on his part. So he read the letter over twice, sealed it, and took it up, together with his bed-candle, into his bedroom. Now that the letter was written, it seemed to be a thing fixed by fate that it must go. He had written it that he might see how it looked when written; but, now that it was written, there remained no doubt but that it must be sent. So he went to bed, with the letter on the toilet-table beside him, and early in the morning—so early as to make it seem that the importance of the letter had disturbed his rest—he sent it off by a special messenger to Boxall Hill.
