“O Sir, Sir, treat me not thus kindly!  Put on an angrier brow, or how shall I retain my purpose?  How shall I!”

“Dear, dear creature! make not use of all your power to melt me! Half of it is enough.  For there is eloquence in your eyes I cannot resist; but in your present solemn air, and affecting sentences, you mould me to every purpose of your heart; so that I am a mere machine, a passive instrument, to be played upon at your pleasure.”

“Dear, kind Sir, how you revive my heart, by your goodness!  Perhaps I have only been in a frightful dream, and am but just now awakened.—­But we will not anticipate our trial.  Only, Sir, give orders, that you are not to be spoken with by any body, when we have dined; for I must have you all to myself, without interruption.”

Just as I had said this, a gentleman calling, I retired to my chamber, and wrote to this place.

Mr. B. dismissed his friend, without asking him to dine; so I had him all to myself at dinner—­But we said little, and sat not above a quarter of an hour; looking at each other:  he, with impatience, and some seeming uneasiness; I with more steadiness, I believe, but now and then a tear starting.

I eat but little, though I tried all I could, and especially as he helped me, and courted me with tenderness and sweetness—­O why were ever such things as masquerades permitted in a Christian nation!

I chose to go into my closet rather than into his; and here I sit, waiting the dear gentleman’s coming up to me.  If I keep but my courage, I shall be pleased.  I know the worst, and that will help me; for he is too noble to use me roughly, when he sees I mean not to provoke him by upbraidings, any more than I will act, in this case, beneath the character I ought to assume as his wife.

Mr. B. came up, with great impatience in his looks.  I met him at the chamber door, with a very sedate countenance, and my heart was high with my purpose, and supported me better than I could have expected.—­Yet, on recollection, now I impute to myself something of that kind of magnanimity, that was wont to inspire the innocent sufferers of old, for a still worthier cause than mine; though their motives could hardly be more pure, in that one hope I had, to be an humble means of saving the man I love and honour, from errors that might be fatal to his soul.

I took his hand with boldness:—­“Dear Sir,” leading him to my closet, “here is the bar at which I am to take my trial,” pointing to the backs of three chairs, which I had placed in a joined row, leaving just room to go by on each side.  “You must give me, Sir, all my own way; this is the first, and perhaps the last time, that I shall desire it.—­Nay, dear Sir,” turning my face from him, “look not upon me with an eye of tenderness:  if you do I may lose my purposes, important to me as they are; and however fantastic my behaviour may seem to you, I want not to move your passions (for the good impressions made upon them may be too easily dissipated by the winds of sense,) but your reason; and if that can be done, I am safe, and shall fear no relapse.”