trip together to Switzerland. But at the same time his proofs of indifference forced her to declare that she and pleasure had shaken hands. "How often," she breaks out in her agony, "passing through the rocks, I have thought, 'But for this child, I would lay my head on one of them, and never open my eyes again!'" The only particular in which he remained firm was his unwillingness to give a final decision in what, to her, was the one all-important matter. His vacillating behaviour was heartless in the extreme. Her suspense became unbearable, and all her letters contained entreaties for him to relieve it.
Finally, after allowing her to suffer three months of acute agony, he summoned up resolution enough to write and tell her he would abide by her decision. Her business in the North had been satisfactorily settled, for which she was, alas! to receive but poor thanks; and the welfare of the child having now become the pivot of her actions, she returned to England. From Dover she sent him a letter informing him that she was prepared once more to make his home hers:—
You say I must decide for myself. I have decided that it was most for the interest of my little girl, and for my own comfort, little as I expect, for us to live together; and I even thought that you would be glad some years hence, when the tumult of business was over, to repose in the society of an affectionate friend, and mark the progress of our interesting child, whilst endeavouring to be of use in the circle you at last resolved to rest in, for you cannot run about for ever. . . .
The result of this letter was that Imlay and Mary tried to retie the broken thread of their domestic relations. The latter went up to London, and they settled together in lodgings. It would have been better for
