Sunday Afternoon

O Belford! what a hair’s-breadth escape have I had!⁠—Such a one, that I tremble between terror and joy, at the thought of what might have happened, and did not.

What a perverse girl is this, to contend with her fate; yet has reason to think, that her very stars fight against her! I am the luckiest of me!⁠—But my breath almost fails me, when I reflect upon what a slender thread my destiny hung.

But not to keep thee in suspense; I have, within this half-hour, obtained possession of the expected letter from Miss Howe⁠—and by such an accident! But here, with the former, I dispatch this; thy messenger waiting.