“My dear, dear, ever dear Mr Vanslyperken,

“Pity me, pity me, O pity me!  Alas! how soon is the cup of bliss dashed from the lips of us poor mortals.  I can hardly write, hardly hold my pen, or hold my head up.  I cannot bear that, from my hand, you should be informed of the utter blight of all our hopes which blossomed so fully.  Alas! alas! but it must be.  O my head, my poor, poor head—­how it swims!  I was sitting at the fireside, thinking when you would return, and trying to find out if the wind was fair, when I heard a knock at the door.  It was so like yours, that my heart beat, and I ran to the window, but I could not see who it was, so I sat down again.  Imagine my surprise, my horror, my vexation, my distress, my agony, when who should come in but my supposed dead husband!  I thought I should have died when I saw him.  I dropped as it was, down into a swoon, and when I came to my senses, there he was hanging over me; thinking, poor fool, that I had swooned for joy, and kissing me—­pah! yes, kissing me.  O dear!  O dear!  My dear Mr Vanslyperken, I thought of you, and what your feelings would be, when you know all this; but there he was alive, and in good health, and now I have nothing more to do but to lie down and die.

“It appears that in my ravings I called upon you over and over again, and discovered the real state of my poor bleeding heart, and he was very angry:  he packed up everything, and he insisted upon my leaving Portsmouth.  Alas!  I shall be buried in the north, and never see you again.  But why should I, my dear Mr Vanslyperken? what good will come of it?  I am a virtuous woman, and will be so:  but, O dear!  I can write no more.

     “Farewell, then, farewell!  Farewell for ever!  Dear Mr
     Vanslyperken, think no more of your disconsolate, unhappy,
     heart-broken, miserable

     “ANN MALCOLM.

     “P.S.—­For my sake you will adhere to the good cause; I
     know you will, my dearest.”

Mr Vanslyperken perused this heart-rending epistle, and fell back on his chair almost suffocated.  The woman, who had stood in the passage while he read the letter, came to his assistance, and pouring some water into his mouth, and throwing a portion of it over his face, partially revived him.  Vanslyperken’s head fell on the table upon his hands, and for some minutes remained in that position.  He then rose, folded the letter, put it in his pocket, and staggered out of the house without saying a word.

O Nancy Corbett!  Nancy Corbett! this was all your doing.

You had gained your point in winning over the poor man to commit treason—­you had waited till he was so entangled that he could not escape, or in future refuse to obey the orders of the Jacobite party—­you had seduced him, Nancy Corbett—­you had intoxicated him—­in short, Nancy, you had ruined him, and then you threw him over by this insidious and perfidious letter.