Chapter 6
Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from
my own Elizabeth:—
My dearest Cousin,
You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of
dear kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account.
You are f*******n to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you,
dear Victor, is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long
time I have thought that each post would bring this line, and my
persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to
Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences
and perhaps dangers of so long a journey, yet how often have I
regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself
that the task of attending on your sickbed has devolved on some
mercenary old nurse, who
