ed his permission to join
my ship without returning home, alleging as a reason, that delay would
soften down any asperity of feeling occasioned by the late fracas.
This in his answer he agreed to, enclosing a handsome remittance; and
the same post brought a pressing invitation from Mr Somerville to come
to ---- Hall.

My little actress informed me that the company would set out in two
days for the neighbourhood of Portsmouth; and, as I found that they
would be more than a fortnight in travelling, I determined to accept
the invitation, and quit her for the present. I had been more than a
week in her society. At parting, I professed my admiration and love.
Silence and a starting tear were her only acknowledgment. I saw that
she was not displeased; and I left her with joyful anticipations.

But what did I anticipate, as I rolled heedlessly along in the
chaise to ---- Hall? Sensual gratification at the expense of a poor
defenceless orphan, whose future life would be clouded with misery.
I could see my wickedness, and moralise upon it; but the devil was
triumphant within me, and I consoled myself with the vulgar adage,
"Needs must when the devil drives." With this, I dismissed the subject
to think of Emily, whose residence was now in sight.

I arrived at ---- Hall, was kindly received and welcomed by both
father and daughter; but on this visit, I must not dwell. When I
reflect on it, I hate myself and human nature! Could I be trusted? yet
I inspired unbounded confidence. Was I not as vicious as one of my
age could be? Yet I made them believe I was almost perfection. Did I
deserve to be happy? Yet I was so, and more so than I had ever been
before or ever have been since. I was like the serpent in Eden, though
without his vile intentions. Beauty and virtue united to keep my
passions in subjection. When they had nothing to feed on, they
concealed themselves in the inmost recesses of my bosom.

Had I remained always with Emily, I should have been reclaimed; but
when I quitted her, I lost all my good feelings and good resolutions;
not, however, before the bright image of virtue had lighted up in
my bosom a holy flame which has never been entirely extinguished.
Occasionally dimmed, it has afterwards burnt up with renewed
brightness; and, as a beacon-light, has often guided me through perils
that might have overwhelmed me.

Compelled at last to quit this earthly paradise, I told her, at
parting, that I loved her, adored her;