infamy. This money may keep you in honesty until you procure another place.”

I took the money; and, standing up, addressed him thus :

"It is not, sir, because I wish to retain this situation that I desire you to hear me. I am sorry for what I have done. I grievously deplore the wrong of which I have been guilty. My father is a poor man, and he has not the means to help me. I have to depend on myself to make my way in the world. Mr. Bracebridge courted me; I did not court him. He swore his passion was honourable and sincere, and I believed him. He entreated me to keep his love a secret, and I did so. I did not repel him, because he was a handsome young fellow; and loving me, as I believed, truly, I thought he would make me a good husband. And as I had my fortune to make, it was not in my nature to drive him from me, for he professed to offer me his title and fortune on his father's death; and honester (because wealthier) women than I would have seen no dishonour in entertaining his proposals. I love Miss Aston well, sir. It was povertythe utter barrenness of my future-put me upon

I leave Wimpole Street.

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wronging her. Do you think, sir, your reproaches could add to my mortification? See how he would have treated me, who have forfeited my place for him, and betrayed those whose kindness I shall never recall without tears. I would not have you think less harshly on me than my dishonour merits; but your severity may be mitigated by recollecting that it was my poverty and the obscurity of my future that first occasioned me to receive his addresses; and that my disappointment must be keen enough to appease the deepest anger that could be possessed against me."

Then, making him a humble curtsey, I stepped from the room; and, mounting to my bedchamber, got together my narrow wardrobe, and left the house.

CHAPTER XVI.

Miss Boothby returns to her papa.

MY rage was great; my mortification keen; my

heart hopeless. No tears came to my relief; yet I seemed like one whose eyes are veiled with tears. I called a chair, and, stepping into it, bade the men carry me to the Haymarket. To what other destination was I to direct them? I took no note of the spectacle of the streets; my soul lay burning within me, and the fumes thereof seemed to cloud my brain, and leave me to the guidance of the mere mechanick instincts.

When I was arrived, I went to Mr. Boothby's bom, but found him absent. I sat for a while, with my head upon my hands, striving to unravel the web of my misfortunes—to put aside the curtain of despair, that I might see what lay beyond.

Blow after blow had been struck me in rapid succession. First, my lover was dead, which ended the dream of aggrandisement contained

I rehearse my disappointments.

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n my betrothal. Next, I was to learn that the man I had trusted was a base villain, whose love was a snare for my destruction, whose very passion was an impeachment of my virtue, whose design upon me was as odious as was ever yet writ in history or poetry. Then I was to be ignominiously dismissed from the situation in which I had promised myself the ease of many years, which I had considered as the smooth channel that was to float me to the great ocean on which I should ride, as gay and handsome a bark as ever flew a pennon. And, lastly, I was to lose the esteem and the company of the man whom, with care, by the exercise of deference, sympathy, and tenderness, I might one day have made my husband.

It took me long to rally. I heard the clocks striking, yet could not rid me of my stupour. Then presently I was deafened by eager questionings how was I to live? what should I do? to whom was I to turn for succour ?

Wearied by my sufferings, my eyelids grew heavy; my head sank upon the table, and I slumbered.

I dreamt a dream.

Each

Methought two figures stood before me. One was lean, famished, and hollow-eyed; her yellow skin showed through rags; her fangs were black : she made a ghastly presence. Next her stood a handsome figure, sumptuously apparelled; her cheeks coated with red, which gave uncommon brilliancy to her eyes; her teeth white and regular, and her hair dressed high, in the newest mode. She that was lean called herself Virtue. She that was painted called herself Vice. bid me follow her. Virtue pointed to a barren prospect, drenched with rain, beaten by gales, and told me my way would lie through such desolate regions, but by a path that would lead me to heaven. Vice pointed to elegant chambers and silken couches, to gallants of quality, and the thousand diversions of the town. To her I was eagerly addressing myself, when I was awaked by the entrance of Mr. Boothby.

My God, child!" he cried, when I lifted my face; "I thought you was dead."

"I had like to be dead," said I.

through enough to kill me."

"I have gone

"How! Sure 'tis not known how he came by his death! Speak!" he cried.