Note 19: — Chapter XIII

The carriage quitted London at the close of the evening, and travelled all night:—it was towards the end of the year. At midnight we passed over Hounslow and Bagshot heaths. 'The moon,' to adopt the language of Ossian, 'looked through broken clouds, and brightened their dark-brown sides.' A loud November blast howled over the heath, and whistled through the fern.—There was a melancholy desolation in the scene, that was in unison with my feelings, and which overwhelmed my spirits with a tide of tender recollections. I recalled to my imagination a thousand interesting images—I indulged in all the wild enthusiasm of my character. My fellow-travellers slept tranquilly, while my soul was awake to agonizing sorrow. I adopted the language of the tender Eloisa—'Why,' said I, 'am I indebted for life to his care, whose cruelty has rendered it insupportable? Inhuman, as he is, let him fly from me for ever, and deny himself the savage pleasure of being an eye-witness to my sorrows!—But why do I rave thus?—He is not to be blamed—I, alone, am guilty—I, alone, am the author of my own misfortunes, and should, therefore, be the only object of anger and resentment.'19