r
guilty child, and save your innocent one from starving." Bragwell
sunk down by her, and prayed God to forgive both her and himself, in
terms of genuine sorrow. To hear words of real penitence and
heart-felt prayer from this once high-minded father and vain
daughter, was music to Worthy's ears, who thought this moment of
outward misery was the only joyful one he had ever spent in the
Bragwell family.

He was resolved not to interfere, but to let the father's own
feelings work out the way into which he was to act.

Bragwell said nothing, but slowly led to his own house, holding the
little boy by the hand, and pointing to Worthy to assist the feeble
steps of his daughter, who once more entered her father's doors; but
the dread of seeing her mother quite overpowered her. Mrs. Bragwells
heart was not changed, but sorrow had weakened her powers of
resistance; and she rather suffered her daughter to come in, than
gave her a kind reception. She was more astonished than pleased; and
even in this trying moment, was more disgusted with the little boy's
mean clothes, than delighted with his rosy face. As soon as she was
a little recovered, Mr. Bragwell desired his daughter to tell him
how she happened to be at that place at that time.

In a weak voice she began: "My tale, sir, is short, but mournful."
Now, I am very sorry that my readers must wait for this short, but
mournful tale, a little longer.

PART VII.

MRS. INCLE'S STORY.

"I left your house, dear father," said Mrs. Incle, "with a heart
full of vain triumph. I had no doubt but my husband was a great man,
who put on that disguise to obtain my hand. Judge, then, what I felt
to find that he was a needy impostor, who wanted my money, but did
not care for me. This discovery, though it mortified, did not
humble me. I had neither affection to bear with the man who had
deceived me, nor religion to improve by the disappointment. I have
found that change of circumstances does not change the heart, till
God is pleased to do it. My misfortune only taught me to rebel more
against him. I thought God unjust; I accused my father, I was
envious of my sister, I hated my husband; but never once did I blame
myself.

"My husband picked up a wretched subsistence by joining himself to
any low scheme of idle pleasure that was going on. He would follow a
mountebank, carry a dice-box, or fiddle at the fair. He was always
taunting me for that gentility on which I so much valued myself.