Montraville instantly left the house and returned hastily to the city.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Mystery developed.

Unfortunately for Charlotte, about three weeks before this unhappy rencontre, Captain Beauchamp, being ordered to Rhode-Island, his lady had accompanied him, so that Charlotte was deprived of her friendly advice and consoling society.  The afternoon on which Montraville had visited her she had found herself languid and fatigued, and after making a very slight dinner had lain down to endeavour to recruit her exhausted spirits, and, contrary to her expectations, had fallen asleep.  She had not long been lain down, when Belcour arrived, for he took every opportunity of visiting her, and striving to awaken her resentment against Montraville.  He enquired of the servant where her mistress was, and being told she was asleep, took up a book to amuse himself:  having sat a few minutes, he by chance cast his eyes towards the road, and saw Montraville approaching; he instantly conceived the diabolical scheme of ruining the unhappy Charlotte in his opinion for ever; he therefore stole softly up stairs, and laying himself by her side with the greatest precaution, for fear she should awake, was in that situation discovered by his credulous friend.

When Montraville spurned the weeping Charlotte from him, and left her almost distracted with terror and despair, Belcour raised her from the floor, and leading her down stairs, assumed the part of a tender, consoling friend; she listened to the arguments he advanced with apparent composure; but this was only the calm of a moment:  the remembrance of Montraville’s recent cruelty again rushed upon her mind:  she pushed him from her with some violence, and crying—­“Leave me, Sir, I beseech you leave me, for much I fear you have been the cause of my fidelity being suspected; go, leave me to the accumulated miseries my own imprudence has brought upon me.”

She then left him with precipitation, and retiring to her own apartment, threw herself on the bed, and gave vent to an agony of grief which it is impossible to describe.

It now occurred to Belcour that she might possibly write to Montraville, and endeavour to convince him of her innocence:  he was well aware of her pathetic remonstrances, and, sensible of the tenderness of Montraville’s heart, resolved to prevent any letters ever reaching him:  he therefore called the servant, and, by the powerful persuasion of a bribe, prevailed with her to promise whatever letters her mistress might write should be sent to him.  He then left a polite, tender note for Charlotte, and returned to New-York.  His first business was to seek Montraville, and endeavour to convince him that what had happened would ultimately tend to his happiness:  he found him in his apartment, solitary, pensive, and wrapped in disagreeable reflexions.

“Why how now, whining, pining lover?” said he, clapping him on the shoulder.  Montraville started; a momentary flush of resentment crossed his cheek, but instantly gave place to a death-like paleness, occasioned by painful remembrance remembrance awakened by that monitor, whom, though we may in vain endeavour, we can never entirely silence.