The next morning by sun-rise they found themselves at anchor before the city of New-York.  A boat was ordered to convey the ladies on shore.  Crayton accompanied them; and they were shewn to a house of public entertainment.  Scarcely were they seated when the door opened, and the Colonel found himself in the arms of his daughter, who had landed a few minutes before him.  The first transport of meeting subsided, Crayton introduced his daughter to Mademoiselle La Rue, as an old friend of her mother’s, (for the artful French woman had really made it appear to the credulous Colonel that she was in the same convent with his first wife, and, though much younger, had received many tokens of her esteem and regard.)

“If, Mademoiselle,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “you were the friend of my mother, you must be worthy the esteem of all good hearts.”  “Mademoiselle will soon honour our family,” said Crayton, “by supplying the place that valuable woman filled:  and as you are married, my dear, I think you will not blame—­”

“Hush, my dear Sir,” replied Mrs. Beauchamp:  “I know my duty too well to scrutinize your conduct.  Be assured, my dear father, your happiness is mine.  I shall rejoice in it, and sincerely love the person who contributes to it.  But tell me,” continued she, turning to Charlotte, “who is this lovely girl?  Is she your sister, Mademoiselle?”

A blush, deep as the glow of the carnation, suffused the cheeks of Charlotte.

“It is a young lady,” replied the Colonel, “who came in the same vessel with us from England.’  He then drew his daughter aside, and told her in a whisper, Charlotte was the mistress of Montraville.

“What a pity!” said Mrs. Beauchamp softly, (casting a most compassionate glance at her.) “But surely her mind is not depraved.  The goodness of her heart is depicted in her ingenuous countenance.”

Charlotte caught the word pity.  “And am I already fallen so low?” said she.  A sigh escaped her, and a tear was ready to start, but Montraville appeared, and she checked the rising emotion.  Mademoiselle went with the Colonel and his daughter to another apartment.  Charlotte remained with Montraville and Belcour.  The next morning the Colonel performed his promise, and La Rue became in due form Mrs. Crayton, exulted in her own good fortune, and dared to look with an eye of contempt on the unfortunate but far less guilty Charlotte.

VOLUME II

CHAPTER XVIII.

Reflections.

“And am I indeed fallen so low,” said Charlotte, “as to be only pitied?  Will the voice of approbation no more meet my ear? and shall I never again possess a friend, whose face will wear a smile of joy whenever I approach?  Alas! how thoughtless, how dreadfully imprudent have I been!  I know not which is most painful to endure, the sneer of contempt, or the glance of compassion,