With these impressions again throbbing at his heart, he
began a short letter to her, which he felt must crush that heart
forever.
"To Miss Beaufort.
"My faculties lose their power when I take up my pen to address, for
the first and the last time, Miss Beaufort. I hardly know what I
would say--what I ought to say; I dare not venture to write all that
I feel. But have you not been my benefactress? Did you not assert my
character and give me liberty when I was calumniated and in distress?
Did you not ward from me the scorn of unpitying folly? Did you not
console me with your own compassion? You have done all this; and
surely you will not despise the gratitude of a heart which you have
condescended to sooth and to comfort. At least I cannot leave England
forever without imploring blessings on the head of Miss Beaufort,
without thanking her on my knees, on which I am writing, for that
gracious and benign spirit which discovered a breaking heart under
the mask of serenity, which penetrated through the garb of poverty
and dependence, and saw that the condemned Constantine was not what
he seemed! Your smiles, Miss Beaufort, your voice speaking
commiseration, were my sweetest consolations during those heavy
months of bitterness which I endured at Dundas House. I contemplated
you as a pitying angel, sent to reconcile me to a life which had
already become a burden.
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