Enjoy, my dear Wolmar, the fruits of your labour. Receive the acknowledgements of a heart, which you have taken so much pains to render worthy of being offered to your acceptance. Never did any man undertake so arduous a task; never did any one attempt what you have executed; nor did ever a susceptible and grateful mind, feel more than that with which you have inspired me. Mine had lost its force, its vigour, its very being; but you have restored them all; I was dead to virtue, to happiness, and owe to you that moral life, to which you have raised me. O my benefactor! my father! in giving myself up entirely to you, I can only offer, as to the deity, the gifts I have received at your hands.
Must I confess to you my weakness and my fears? Hitherto I have always distrusted myself. It is not a week ago that I blushed for the weakness of my heart, and thought all our pains had been lost. That cruel and discouraging moment, however, thanks to heaven and you, is past, never to return. I do not think myself cured, only because you tell me so, but because I feel it: I stand no longer in need of your answering for me, who have put me in a state to answer for myself. It was necessary for me to be absent from you and Eloisa, to know what I should be without your support. It is at a distance from her abode, that I learn not to be afraid to approach her.
As I write the particulars of our journey to Mrs. Orbe, I shall not repeat them here; I am not unwilling you should know my foibles; but I have not the courage to tell you of them. It is, my dear Wolmar, my last fault. I feel myself so far already from being liable to commit the like again, that I cannot think of it without disdain; and yet it is so little a while since, that I cannot acknowledge it without shame. You, who can so readily forgive my errors, will doubtless forgive the shame which attends my repentance.
Nothing is now wanting to compleat my happiness. My Lord B—— has told me all. Shall I then, my dear friend, be devoted entirely to you? shall I educate your children? shall the eldest of the three be preceptor to the rest? with what ardour have I not desired it? The hope of being thought worthy of such employment has redoubled my assiduity to second your paternal care and instructions.
How often have I not expressed my earnestness, in this particular, to Eloisa! with what pleasure have I not interpreted the discourse of both of you, in my favour! but although she was convinced of my zeal for your service, and seemed to approve of its object, she never entered so explicitly into my designs as to encourage me to speak more openly. I was sensible I ought rather to merit that honour than ask for it. I expected of you and her that proof of your confidence and esteem. I have not been deceived in my expectation, nor shall you, my dear friends, believe me, be deceived in yours.
You know that, in the course of our conversation on the education of your children, I have thrown together upon paper some of those sentiments which such conversation furnished me with, and which you approved. Since my departure, some new reflections have suggested themselves on the same subject: I have reduced the whole into a kind of system, which, when I have properly digested, I shall communicate to you for your examination. I do not think, however, I shall be able to make it fit for your inspection till after our arrival at Rome. My system begins, or finishes, that of Eloisa; or rather, it is nothing more than a connection and illustration of hers; for it consists only in rules to prevent the natural disposition from being spoiled, in subjecting it to the laws and customs of society.
I have recovered my reason by your care: my heart is again sound and at liberty: I see myself beloved by all whose love I could wish to possess: futurity presents me with an agreeable prospect. With all this, my situation should surely be delightful; but it is decreed, my soul shalt never enjoy tranquillity. As the end of our journey approaches, I see the crisis of the fate of my illustrious friend: it is I, who, so to speak, ought to decide it. Cannot I at least do that once for him which he has so often done for me? cannot I nobly discharge the greatest and most important duty of my life? My dear Wolmar, I retain all your lessons in my heart; but, to make them useful, why don't I possess your sagacity? Ah could I but one day see Lord B—— happy! could I, agreeable to your projects, see us but all assembled together, never to part again! could I entertain a wish for any thing on earth besides! Yes one, the accomplishment of which depends not on you, nor me, nor on any other person in the world; but on him who has a reward in store for the virtues of Eloisa, and, keeps a secret register of your good actions.
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