This last sentence delicately recalled the scene at the inn, and the circumstances of my first introduction.  The defence was not bad; it wanted but one simple ingredient to have made it excellent—­I mean truth; but the court being strongly biassed in favour of the prisoner, I was acquitted, and at the same time, “admonished to be more careful in future.”  The reconciliation produced a few more tears from my beloved Emily, who soon after slipped out of the room to recover her flurry.

When Mr Somerville and myself were left together, he explained to me the harmless plot which had been laid for the union between his daughter and myself.  How true it is, that the falling out of lovers is the renewal of love!  The fair, white hand extended to me, was kissed with the more rapture, as I had feared the losing of it for ever.  None enjoy the pleasures of a secure port, but he who has been tempest tossed, and in danger of shipwreck.

The dinner and the evening were among the happiest I can remember.  We sat but a short time over our wine, as I preferred following my mistress to the little drawing-room, where tea and coffee were prepared, and where the musical instruments were kept.  Emily sang and played to me, and I sang and accompanied her; and I thought all the clocks and watches in the house were at least three hours too fast, when, as it struck twelve, the signal was made to retire.

I had no sooner laid my head on my pillow than I began to call myself to a severe account for my duplicity; for, somehow or other, I don’t know how it is, conscience is a very difficult sort of gentleman to deal with.  A tailor’s bill you may avoid by crossing the channel; but the duns of conscience follow you to the antipodes, and will be satisfied.  I ran over the events of the day; I reflected that I had been on the brink of losing my Emily by an act of needless and unjustifiable deceit and double-dealing.  Sooner or later I was convinced that this part of my character would be made manifest, and that shame and punishment would overwhelm me in utter ruin.  The success which had hitherto attended me was no set-off against the risk I ran of losing for ever this lovely girl, and the respect and esteem of her father.  For her sake, therefore, I made a vow for ever to abandon this infernal system.  I mention this more particularly as it was the first healthy symptom of amendment I had discovered, and one to which I long and tenaciously adhered, as far, at least, as my habits and pursuits in life would allow me.  I forgot, at that time, that to be ingenuous it was necessary to be virtuous.  There is no cause for concealment when we do not act wrong.

A letter from Mr Somerville to my father explained my conduct; and my father, in reply, said I certainly must have been mad.  To this I assented, quoting Shakspeare—­“the lunatic, the lover, and the poet, &c.!” So long as I was out of the scrape, I cared little about the impeachment of my rationality.