My dearest life! rising; for I hoped she was relenting——­

Hadst thou not sinned beyond the possibility of forgiveness, interrupted she; and this had been the first time that thus thou solemnly promisest and invokest the vengeance thou hast as often defied; the desperateness of my condition might have induced me to think of taking a wretched chance with a man so profligate.  But, after what I have suffered by thee, it would be criminal in me to wish to bind my soul in covenant to a man so nearly allied to perdition.

Good God!—­how uncharitable!—­I offer not to defend—­would to Heaven that I could recall—­so nearly allied to perdition, Madam!—­So profligate a man, Madam!——­

O how short is expression of thy crimes, and of my sufferings!  Such premeditation is thy baseness!  To prostitute the characters of persons of honour of thy own family—­and all to delude a poor creature, whom thou oughtest—­But why talk I to thee?  Be thy crimes upon thy head!  Once more I ask thee, Am I, or am I not, at my own liberty now?

I offered to speak in defence of the women, declaring that they really were the very persons——­

Presume not, interrupted she, base as thou art, to say one word in thine own vindication.  I have been contemplating their behaviour, their conversation, their over-ready acquiescences, to my declarations in thy disfavour; their free, yet affectedly-reserved light manners:  and now that the sad event has opened my eyes, and I have compared facts and passages together, in the little interval that has been lent me, I wonder I could not distinguish the behaviour of the unmatron-like jilt, whom thou broughtest to betray me, from the worthy lady whom thou hast the honour to call thy aunt:  and that I could not detect the superficial creature whom thou passedst upon me for the virtuous Miss Montague.

Amazing uncharitableness in a lady so good herself!—­That the high spirits those ladies were in to see you, should subject them to such censures!—­I do must solemnly vow, Madam——­

That they were, interrupting me, verily and indeed Lady Betty Lawrance and thy cousin Montague!—­O wretch!  I see by thy solemn averment [I had not yet averred it,] what credit ought to be given to all the rest.  Had I no other proof——­

Interrupting her, I besought her patient ear.  ’I had found myself, I told her, almost avowedly despised and hated.  I had no hope of gaining her love, or her confidence.  The letter she had left behind her, on her removal to Hampstead, sufficiently convinced me that she was entirely under Miss Howe’s influence, and waited but the return of a letter from her to enter upon measures that would deprive me of her for ever:  Miss Howe had ever been my enemy:  more so then, no doubt, from the contents of the letter she had written to her on her first coming to Hampstead; that I dared not to stand the event of such a letter; and was glad of an opportunity, by Lady Betty’s and my cousin’s means (though they knew not my motive) to get her back to town; far, at the time, from intending the outrage which my despair, and her want of confidence in me, put me so vilely upon’—­