I have this instant received a letter from my Lord Castle-Cary, which he certainly has not communicated to you. He treats my flight, as a piece of female cunning; he does not absolutely tell me so, but that is what he would say. He thinks my intention is to mortify poor Lord Ossory, to try him, to make him miserable, and at last to pardon him. The idea which he has of my designs, does not give me a high opinion of the manner in which he himself pardons. Let this suffice, till I am in a humour to answer him. I should, indeed, despise myself, if I was capable of so low an artifice; if, believing I could forgive him – forgive him, Henrietta! – If I could, and had the cruelty to make him wait for my forgiveness, and to play with the suspence of a man, that I meant to make happy. I should despise myself indeed. No, my dear Henrietta, I will never oblige any one to purchase a benefit I intend them. Either I know myself very ill, or it is not in my nature to pardon him. I should promise it in vain. The sorrows I have felt, are forever engraven on my memory: I am very far from desiring it should be in my power, to inflict an equal share of misery on him: My hatred is as generous as my friendship was tender: I shall confine its effects to flying the presence of the ingrate. My Lord Castle-Cary pretends, that all resentment ought to yield to a sincere repentance. With my inferiors, I will govern myself by this maxim, but never with my friends. But, my dear, it will not be useless to make a little remark here. It is, that men only establish this principle, in hopes to take advantage of it: Accustom yourself to think, with my Lord Castle-Cary, that repentance effaces all faults, and, depend on it, he will provide himself of sufficient occasions to repent. –