CHAPTER IX
MISDIRECTED LETTERS
The night so unhappy to Cornelia was very much more unhappy to Hyde. Hehad sent his letter to her before eleven in the morning, and if Fortunewere kind to him, he expected an answer soon after leaving MadameJacobus. Her departure from New York depressed him very much. She hadbeen the good genius of his love, but he told himself that it had now"grown to perfection, and could, he hoped, stand in its own strength."Restlessly he watched the hours away, now blaming, now excusing, anondreaming of his coming bliss, then fidgeting and fearing disappointmentfrom being too forward in its demanding. When noon passed, and oneo'clock struck, he rang for some refreshment; for he guessed veryaccurately the reason of delay.
"Cornelia has been visiting or shopping," he thought; "and if it werevisiting, no one would part with her until the last moment; so then ifshe get home by dinner-time it is as much as I can expect. I may aswell eat, and then wait in what patience I can, another hour ortwo--yes, it will be two hours. I will give her two hours--for she willbe obliged to serve others before me. Well, well, patience is mypenance."
But in truth he expected the letter to be in advance of three o'clock."Twenty words will answer me," he thought; "yes, ten words; and shewill find or make the time to write them;" and between this hope andthe certainty of three o'clock, he worried the minutes away until threestruck. Then there was a knock at his door and he went hastily toanswer it. Balthazar stood there with the longed-for letter in hishand. He felt first of all that he must be quite alone with it. So heturned the key and then stood a moment to examine the outside. A letterfrom Cornelia! It was a joy to see his own name written by her hand. Hekissed the superscription, and kissed the white seal, and sank into hischair with a sigh of delight to read it.
In a few moments a change beyond all expression came over hisface--perplexity, anger, despair cruelly assailed him. It was evidentthat some irreparable thing had ruined all his hopes. He was for somemoments dumb. He felt what he could not express, for a great calamityhad opened a chamber of feeling, which required new words to explainit. This trance of grief was followed by passionate imprecations andreproaches, wearing themselves away to an utter amazement andincredulity. He had flung the letter to the floor, but he lifted itagain and went over the cruel words, forcing himself to read themslowly and aloud. Every period was like a fresh sentence of death.
"'YOUR LETTER HAS GIVEN ME VERY GREAT SORROW;' let me die if that isnot what she says; 'VERY GREAT SORROW. YOU MUST HAVE KNOWN FOR WEEKS,EVEN MONTHS, THAT MARRIAGE BETWEEN US WAS IMPOSSIBLE;' am I perfectlyin my senses? 'IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN AND ALWAYS WILL BE;' why, 'tis hearttreason of the worst kind! Can I bear it? Can I bear it? Can I bear it?Oh Cornelia! Cornelia! 'WE HAVE BEEN SO HAPPY.' Oh it is piteous, sad.So young, so fair, so false! and she 'GRIEVES AT MY GOING AWAY,' andbids me on 'NO ACCOUNT CALL ON HER FATHER'--and takes pains to tell methe 'NO IS ABSOLUTE'--and I am not to 'BLAME HER.' Oh this is thevilest treachery! She might as well have played the coquette in speechas writing. It is Rem Van Ariens who is at the bottom of it. May thedevil take the fellow! I shall need some heavenly power to keep myhands off him. This is a grief beyond all griefs--I believed she lovedme so entirely. Fool! a thousand times fool! Have I not found all womenof a piece? Did not Molly Trefuses throw me over for a duke? and SarahTalbot tell me my love was only calf-love and had to be weaned? andEliza Capel regret that I was too young to guide a wife, and so marry acabinet minister old enough for her grandfather? Women are all just so,not a cherry stone to choose between them--I will never wonder again atanything a woman does--Was ever a lover so betrayed? Oh Cornelia! yourink should have frozen in your pen, ere you wrote such words to me."
Thus his passionate grief and anger tortured him until midnight. Thenhe had a high fever and a distracting headache, and, the physicaltorment being the most insistent and distressing, he gave way beforeit. With such agonizing tears as spring from despairing wounded love hethrew himself upon his bed, and his craving, suffering heart at lengthfound rest in sleep from the terrible egotism of its sorrow.
Never for one instant did he imagine this sorrow to be a mistaken andquite unnecessary one. Indeed it was almost impossible for him toconceive of a series of events, which though apparently accidental, hada fatality more pronounced than anything that could have been arranged.Not taking Rem Van Ariens seriously into his consideration, and notfearing his rival in any way, it was beyond all his suspicions that Remshould write to Cornelia in the same hour, and for the same purpose ashimself. He had no knowledge of Rem's intention to go to Boston, andcould not therefore imagine Cornelia "grieving" at any journey but hisown impending one to England. And that she should be forced bycircumstances to answer both Rem and himself in the same hour, and inthe very stress and hurry of her great love and anxiety shouldmisdirect the letters, were likelihoods outside his consciousness.
It was far otherwise with Rem. The moment he opened the letter broughthim by Cornelia's messenger, in that very moment he knew that it wasNOT his letter. He understood at once the position, and perceived thathe held in his hand an instrument, which if affairs went as he desired,was likely to make trouble he could perchance turn to his ownadvantage. The fate that had favoured him so far would doubtless gofurther--if he let it alone. These thoughts sprang at once into hisreflection, but were barely entertained before nobler ones displacedthem. As a Christian gentleman he knew what he ought to do withoutcavil and without delay, and he rose to follow the benignant justice ofhis conscience. Into this obedience, however, there entered anhesitation of a second of time, and that infinitesimal period wassufficient for his evil genius.
"Why will you meddle?" it asked. "This is a very dubious matter, andcommon prudence suggests a little consideration. It will be far wiserto let Hyde take the first step. If the letter he has received is soworded, that he knows it is your letter, it is his place to make thetransfer--and he will be sure to do it. Why should you continue thechase? let the favoured one look after his own affairs--being a lawyer,you may well tell yourself, that it is not your interest to move thequestion."
And he hesitated and then sat down, and as there is wickedness even inhesitating about a wicked act, Rem easily drifted from the negative tothe positive of the crime contemplated.
"I had better keep it," he mused, "and see what will come of thekeeping. All things are fair in love and war"--a stupid and slanderousassertion, as far as love is concerned, for love that is noble andtrue, will not justify anything which Christian ethics do not justify.
He suffered in this decision, suffered in his own way quite as much asHyde did. Cornelia had been his dream from his youth up, and Hyde hadbeen his aversion from the moment he first saw him. The words were notto seek with which he expressed himself, and they were such words as donot bear repeating. But of all revelations, the revelation of grief isthe plainest. He saw clearly in that hour that Cornelia had never lovedhim, that his hopes had always been vain, and he experienced all thebitterness of being slighted and humbled for an enemy.
After a little while he remembered that Hyde might possibly do thething which he had resolved not to do. Involuntarily he did Hyde thisjustice, and he said to himself, "if there is anything in the letterintended for me, which determines its ownership, Hyde will bring it. Hewill understand that I have the answer to his proposal, and demand itfrom me--and whether I shall feel in a mood to give it to him, willdepend on the manner in which the demand is made. If he is in one ofhis lordly ways he will get no satisfaction from me. I am not apt togive myself, nor anything I have, away; in fact it will be best not tosee him--if he holds a letter of mine he may keep it. I know its tenorand I am not eager to know the very words in which my lady says 'No.'HO! HO! HO!" he laughed, "I will go to the Swamp; my scented rival inhis perfumed clothing, will hardly wish the smell of the tanning pitsto come between him and his gentility."
The thought of Hyde's probable visit and this way of escaping it madehim laugh again; but it was a laughter that had that something terriblein
it which makes the laughter of the insane and drunken and cruel,worse than the bitterest lamentation. He felt a sudden haste to escapehimself, and seizing his hat walked rapidly to his father's office.Peter looked up as he entered, and the question in his eyes hardlyneeded the simple interrogatary--
"Well then?"
"It is 'No.' I shall go to Boston early in the morning. I wish to goover the business with Blume and Otis, and to possess myself of allparticulars."
"I have just heard that General Hyde came back this morning. He is nowthe Right Honourable the Earl of Hyde, and his son is, as you know,Lord George Hyde. Has this made a difference?"
"It has not. Let us count up what is owing to us. After all there is acertain good in gold."
"That is the truth. I am an old man and I have seen what altitudes thewant of gold can abase, and what impossible things it makes possible.In any adversity gold can find friends."
"I shall count every half-penny after Blume and Otis."
"Be not too strict--too far east is west. You may lose all by demandingall."
Then the two men spent several hours in going over their accounts, andduring this time no one called on Rem and he received no message. Whenhe returned home he found affairs just as he had left them. "So fargood," he thought, "I will let sleeping dogs lie. Why should I set thembaying about my affairs? I will not do it"--and with this determinationin his heart he fell asleep.
But Rem's sleep was the sleep of pure matter; his soul never knew theexpansion and enlightenment and discipline of the oracles that speak indarkness. The winged dreams had no message or comfort for him, and hetook no counsel from his pillow. His sleep was the sleep of tired fleshand blood, and heavy as lead. But the waking from such sleep--if thereis trouble to meet--is like being awakened with a blow. He leaped tohis feet, and the thought of his loss and the shame of it, and thehorror of the dishonourable thing he had done, assailed him with abrutal force and swiftness. He was stunned by the suddenness and theinexorable character of his trouble. And he told himself it was "bestto run away from what he could not fight." He had no fear of Hyde'sinterference so early in the morning, and once in Boston all attackswould lose much of their hostile virulence, by the mere influence ofdistance. He knew these were cowardly thoughts, but when a man knows heis in the wrong, he does not challenge his thoughts, he excuses them.And as soon as he was well on the road to Boston, he even began toassume that Hyde, full of the glory of his new position, woulddoubtless be well disposed to let all old affairs drop quietly "and ifso," he mused, "Cornelia will not be so dainty, and I may get 'Yes'where I got 'No.'"
He was of course arguing from altogether wrong premises, for Hyde atthat hour was unconscious of his new dignity, and if he had been awareof it, would have been indifferent to its small honour. He had spent amiserable night, and a sense of almost intolerable desertion and injuryawoke with him. His soul had been in desolate places, wandering inimmense woods, vaguely apprehended as stretches of time before thislife. He had called the lost Cornelia through all their loneliness, andanswers faint as the faintest echo, had come back to that sense ofspiritual hearing attuned in other worlds than this. But sad as suchexperience was, the sole effort had strengthened him. He was indeed inbetter case mentally than physically.
"I must get into the fresh air," he said. "I am faint and weak. I musthave movement. I must see my mother. I will tell her everything." Thenhe went to his mirror, and looked with a grim smile at its reflection."I have the face of a lover kicked out of doors," he continuedscornfully. He took but small pains with his toilet, and calling forsome breakfast sat down to eat it. Then for the first time in his life,he was conscious of that soul sickness which turns from all physicalcomfort; and of that singular obstruction in the throat which is theheart's sob, and which would not suffer him to swallow.
"I am most wretched," he said mournfully; "and no trouble comes alone.Of all the days in all the years, why should Madame Jacobus have totake herself out of town yesterday? It is almost incredible, and shecould, and would have helped me. She would have sent for Cornelia. Imight have pleaded my cause face to face with her." Then angrily--"Faith! can I yet care for a girl so cruel and so false? I am not to bepitied if I do. I will go to my dear mother. Mother-love is alwayssure, and always young. Whatever befalls, it keeps constant truth. Iwill go to my mother."
He rode rapidly through the city and spoke to no one, but when hereached his Grandfather Van Heemskirk's house, he saw him leaning overthe half-door smoking his pipe. He drew rein then, and the oldgentleman came to his side:
"Why art thou here?" he asked. "Is thy father, or Lady Annie sick?"
"I know nothing new. There was no letter yesterday."
"Yesterday! Surely thou must know that they are now at home? Yesterday,very early in the morning, they landed."
"My father at home!"
"That is the truth. Where wert thou, not to know this?"
"I came to town yesterday morning. I had a great trouble. I was sickand kept my room."
"And sick thou art now, I can see that," said Madame Van Heemskirkcoming forward--"What is the matter with thee, my Joris?"
"Cornelia has refused me. I know not how it is, that no woman will loveme. Am I so very disagreeable?"
"Thou art as handsome and as charming as can be; and it is not Corneliathat has said 'no' to thee, it is her father. Now he will be sorry, forthy uncle is dead and thy father is Earl Hyde, and thou thyself art alord."
"I care not for such things. I am a poor lord, if Cornelia be not mylady." "I wonder they sent not after thee!"
"They would be expecting me every hour. If there had been a letter Ishould have gone directly back with it, but it was beyond allsurmising, that my father should return. Grandfather, will you seeDoctor Moran for me? You can speak a word that will prevail."
"I will not, my Joris. If thy father were not here, that would bedifferent. He is the right man to move in the matter. Ever thou art intoo much of a hurry. Think now of thy life as a book of uncut leaves,and do not turn a page till thou hast read it to the very last word."
"_I_ will see Cornelia for thee," said Madame Van Heernskirk. "_I_ willask the girl what she means. Very often she passes here, sometimes shecomes in. I will say to her--why did thou throw my grandson's love awaylike an old shoe? Art thou not ashamed to be so light of love, for Iknow well thou said to my Joris, thou loved him. And she will tell methe truth. Yes, indeed, if into my house she comes, out of it she goesnot, until I have the why, and the wherefore."
"Do not be unkind to her, grandmother--perhaps it is not her fault--ifshe had only said a few sorrowful words--Let me show you her letter."
"No," said Van Heernskirk. "One thing at a time, Joris. Now it is thetime to go and welcome thy father and thy cousin--too long has been thedelay already."
"Then good-bye! Grandmother, you will speak or me?" And she smiled andnodded, and stood on her tiptoe while Joris stooped and kissedher--"Fret not thyself at all. I will see Cornelia and speak for thee."And then he kissed her again and rode away.
Very near the great entrance gates of Hyde Manor he met his father andmother walking. Madame, the Right Honourable the Countess of Hyde, waspointing out the many improvements she had made; and the Earl lookedpleased and happy. George threw himself off his horse with a lovingimpetuosity, and his mother questioned him about his manner of spendingthe previous day. "How could thou help knowing thy father had landed?"she asked. "Was not the whole city talking of the circumstance?"
"I was not in the city, mother. I went to the post office and fromthere to Madame Jacobus. She was just leaving for Charleston, and Iwent with her to the boat."
"What an incredible thing! Madame Jacobus leaving New York! For what?For why?"
"She has gone to nurse her sister-in-law, who is dying. That is of allthings the most likely--for she has a great heart."
"You say that--I know not."
"It is the truth itself. Afterwards I had my lunch and then came on afever and a distracting headache, an
d I was compelled to keep my room;and so heard nothing at all until my grandfather told me the good newsthis morning."
"Madame Kippon was on the dock and saw thy father and cousin land. Thenews would be a hot coal in her mouth till she told it, and I am amazedshe did not call at thy lodging. Now go forward; when thy father and Ihave been round the land, we will come to thee. Thy cousin Annie ishere."
"That confounds me. I could hardly believe it true."
"She is frail, and her physicians thought the sea voyage might give herthe vitality she needs. It was at least a chance, and she wasdetermined to take it. Then thy father put all his own desires behindhim, and came with her. We will talk more in a little while. I see thydress is untidy, and I dare say thou art hungry. Go, eat and dress, bythat time we shall be home."
But though his mother gave him a final charge "to make haste," he wentslowly. The thought of Cornelia had returned to his memory with asweet, strong insistence that carried all before it. He wondered whatshe was doing--how she was dressed--what she was thinking--what she wasfeeling---He wondered if she was suffering--if she thought he wassuffering--if she was sorry for him--He made himself as wretched aspossible, and then some voice of comfort anteceding all reasoning, toldhim to be of good cheer; for if Cornelia had ever loved him, she mustlove him still; and if she had only been amusing herself with hisdevotion, then what folly to break his heart for a girl who had noheart worth talking about.
Poor Cornelia! She was at that moment the most unhappy woman in NewYork. She had excused the "ten words" he might have written yesterday.She had found in the unexpected return of his father and cousin reasonsufficient for his neglect; but it was now past ten o'clock of anotherday, and there was yet no word from him. Perhaps then he was coming.She sat at her tambour frame listening till all her senses and emotionsseemed to have fled to her ear. And the ear has memory, it watches foran accustomed sound, it will not suffer us to forget the voice, thestep of those we love. Many footsteps passed, but none stopped at thegate; none came up the garden path, and no one lifted the knocker. Thehouse itself was painfully still; there was no sound but the faintnoise made by Mrs. Moran as she put down her Dobbin or her scissors.The tension became distressing. She longed for her father--for acaller--for any one to break this unbearable pause in life.
Yet she could not give up hope. A score of excuses came into her mind;she was sure he would come in the afternoon. He MUST come. She read andreread his letter. She dressed herself with delightful care and satdown to watch for him. He came not. He sent no word, no token, and ashour after hour slipped away, she was compelled to drop her needle.
"Mother," she said, "I am not well. I must go upstairs." She had beenholding despair at bay so many hours she could bear it no longer. Forshe was so young, and this was the first time she had been yoke-fellowwith sorrow. She was amazed at her own suffering. It seemed soimpossible. It had come upon her so swiftly, so suddenly, and as yetshe was not able to seek any comfort or sympathy from God or man. Forto do so, was to admit the impossibility of things yet turning outright; and this conclusion she would not admit; she was angry at a wordor a look that suggested such a termination.
The next morning she called Balthazar to her and closely questionedhim. It had struck her in the night, that the slave might have lost theletter, and be afraid to confess the accident. But Balthazar's mannerand frank speech was beyond suspicion. He told her exactly whatclothing Lieutenant Hyde was wearing, how he looked, what words hesaid, and then with a little hesitation took a silver crown piece fromhis pocket and added "he gave it to me. When he took the letter in hishand he looked down at it and laughed like he was very happy; and hegave me the money for bringing it to him; that is the truth, sure, MissCornelia."
She could not doubt it. There was then nothing to be done but wait inpatience for the explanation she was certain would yet come. But onwith what leaden motion the hours went by! For a few days she made apretence of her usual employments, but at the end of a week herembroidery frame stood uncovered, her books were unopened her musicsilent, and she declared herself unable to take her customary walk. Hermother watched her with unspeakable sympathy, but Cornelia's grief wasdumb; it made no audible moan, and preserved an attitude which repelledall discussion. As yet she would not acknowledge a doubt of her lover'sfaith; his conduct was certainly a mystery, but she told her heart witha passionate iteration that it would positively be cleared up.
Now and then the Doctor, or a visitor, made a remark which might havebroken this implicit trust, and probably did facilitate that end; forit was evident from them, that Hyde was in health, and that he wastaking his share in the usual routine of daily life:--thus, one dayMrs. Wiley while making a call said--
"I met the new Countess and the Lady Annie Hyde, and I can tell you thenew Countess is very much of a Countess. As for the Lady Annie," sheadded, "she was wrapped to her nose in furs, and you could see nothingof her but two large black eyes, that even at a distance made you feelsad and uncomfortable. However Lord George Hyde appeared to be verymuch her servant."
"There has been talk of a marriage between them," answered Mrs. Moran,for she was anxious to put her daughter out of all question. "I shouldthink it would be a very proper marriage."
"Oh, indeed, 'proper marriages' seldom come off. Love marriages are thefashion at present."
"Are they not the most proper of all?"
"On the contrary, is there anything more indiscreet? Of a thousandcouples who marry for love, hardly one will convince us that the thingcan be done, and not repented of afterwards."
"I think you are mistaken," said Mrs. Moran coldly. "Love should alwaysseek its match, and that is love--or nothing."
"Oh indeed! It is you are mistaken," continued Mrs. Wiley. "As thetimes go, Cupid has grown to cupidity, and seeks his match in money orstation, or such things."
"Money, or station, or such things find their match in money, orstation, or such things.--They are not love."
"Well then the three may go together in this case. But the girl has anuncanny, unworldlike face. Captain Wiley says he has seen mermaids withthe same long look in their eyes. Do you know that Rem Van Ariens hasgone to Boston?"
"We have heard so;"--and then the Doctor entered, and after the usualformalities said, "I have just met Earl Hyde and his Countess paradingthemselves in the fine carriage he brought with him, 'Tis a thousandpities the President did not wait in New York to see the sight."
"Was Lady Annie with them?" asked Mrs. Wiley, "we were just talkingabout her."
"Yes, but one forgets that she is there--or anywhere. She seems as ifshe were an accident."
"And the young lord?"
"The young lord affects the democratic."
Such conversations were not uncommon, and Mrs. Moran could not with anyprudence put a sudden stop to them. They kept Cornelia full ofwondering irritation, and gradually drove the doubt into her soul--thedoubt of her lover's sincerity which was the one thing she could notfight against. It loosened all the props of life; she ceased tostruggle and to hope. The world went on, but Cornelia's heart stoodstill; and at the end of the third week things came to this--her fatherlooked at her keenly one morning and sent her instantly to bed. At thelast the breakdown had come in a night, but it had found all ready forit.
"She has typhoid, or I am much mistaken," he said to the anxiousmother. "Why have you said nothing to me? How has it come about? I haveheard no complaining. To have let things go thus far without help isdreadful--it is almost murder."
"John! John! What could I do? She could not bear me to ask after herhealth. She said always that she was not sick. She would not hear of myspeaking to you. I thought it was only sorrow and heart-ache."
"Only sorrow and heart-ache. Is not that enough to call typhoid or anyother death? What is the trouble? Oh I need not ask, I know it is thatyoung Hyde. I feel it. I saw this trouble coming; now let me know thewhole truth."
He listened to it with angry amazement. He said he ought to have beentold at the time--
he threw aside all excuses--for being a man how couldhe understand why women put off, and hope, and suffer? He was sure therascal ought to have been brought to explanation the very firstday:--and then he broke down and wept his wife's tears, and echoed allher piteous moan for her daughter's wronged love and breaking heart.
"What is left us now, is to try and save her dear life," said themiserable father. "Suffering we cannot spare her. She must pass alonethrough the Valley of the Shadow; but it may be she will lose thissorrow in its dreadful paths. I have known this to happen often; forTHERE the soul has to strip itself of all encumbrances, and fight forlife, and life only."
This was the battle waged in Doctor Moran's house for many awful weeks.The girl lay at Death's door, and her father and mother watched everybreath she drew. One day, while she was in extremity, the Doctor wenthimself to the apothecary's for medicine. This medicine was his lasthope and he desired to prepare it himself. As he came out of the storewith it in his hand, Hyde looked at him with a steady imploration. Hehad evidently been waiting his exit.
"Sir!" he said, "I have heard a report that I cannot, I dare notbelieve."
"Believe the worst--and stand aside, sir. I have neither patience norwords for you."
"I beseech you, sir--"
"Touch me not! Out of my sight! Broadway is not wide enough for us two,unless you take the other side."
"Your daughter? Oh sir, have some pity!"
"My daughter is dying."
"Then sir, let me tell you, that your behaviour has been so brutal toher, and to me, that the Almighty shows both kindness and intelligencein taking her away:"--and with these words uttered in a blazing passionof indignation and pity, the young lord crossed to the other side ofthe street, leaving the Doctor confounded by his words and manner.
"There is something strange here," he said to himself; "the fellow maybe as bad as bad can be, but he neither looked nor spoke as if he hadwronged Cornelia. If she lives I must get to the bottom of this affair.I should not wonder if it is the work of Dick Hyde--earl or general--asdetestable a man as ever crossed my path."
With this admission and wonder, the thought of Hyde passed from hismind; for at that hour the issue he had to consider was one of life ordeath. And although it was beyond all hope or expectation, Corneliacame back to life; came back very slowly, but yet with a solemn calmand a certain air of conscious dignity, as of one victorious over deathand the grave. But she was perilously delicate, and the Doctor began toconsider the dangers of her convalescence.
"Ava," he said one evening when Cornelia had been downstairsawhile--"it will not do for the child to run the risk of meeting thatman. I see him on the street frequently. The apothecary says he comesto his store to ask after her recovery nearly every day. He has notgiven her up, I am sure of that. He spoke to me once about her, and wasoutrageously impudent. There is something strange in the affair, buthow can I move in it?"
"It is impossible. Can you quarrel with a man because he has deceivedCornelia? How cruel that would be to the child! You must bear and Imust bear. Anything must be borne, rather than set the town wonderingand talking."
"It is a terrible position. I see not how I can endure it."
"Put Cornelia before everything."
"The best plan is to remove Cornelia out of danger. Why not take her tovisit your brother Joseph? He has long desired you to do so."
"Go to Philadelphia NOW! Joseph tells me Congress is in session, andthe city gone mad over its new dignity. Nothing but balls and dinnersare thought of; even the Quakers are to be seen in the finest modes andmaterials at entertainments; and Cornelia will hardly escape the feverof fashion and social gaiety. She has many acquaintances there."
"I do not wish her to escape it. A change of human beings is asnecessary as a change of air, or diet. She has had too much of GeorgeHyde, and Madame Jacobus, and Rem Van Ariens."
"I hear that Rem is greatly taken with Boston, and thinks of opening anoffice there."
"Very prudent of Rem. What chance has he in New York with Hamilton andBurr, to carry off all the big prey? Make your arrangements as soon aspossible to leave New York."
"You are sure that you are right in choosing Philadelphia?"
"Yes--while Hyde is in New York. Write to your brother to-day; and assoon as Cornelia is a little stronger, I will go with you toPhiladelphia."
"And stay with us?"
"That is not to be expected. I have too much to do here,"
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