the eyes of society, she had fallen; and I did not offer up a pure and
holy love to that which was not accounted pure. In this I gave way,
ungratefully, to the heartless casuistry of the world. But Emily,
enshrined in modesty, with every talent, equal, if not superior
charms, defended by rank and connection, was a flower perpetually
blooming on the stem of virtue, that it would have amounted to
sacrilege to attempt to have plucked; and the attempt itself would
have savoured of insanity, from the utter hopelessness of success.
Every sentiment connected with her was pure, from mere selfishness.
Not for worlds would I have injured her; because in destroying her
peace of mind, my own would have fled for ever. When I contemplated
our final union, I blushed for my own unworthiness; and looked forward
to the day when, by repentance and amendment, I might be deemed worthy
to lead her to the altar.

I had not time to pursue these reflections any farther. Emily heard
my appeal, and rising from her seat in the most dignified manner,
addressed me in the commanding language of conscious virtue and
injured innocence.

"Sir," said she, "I trust I am too honest to deceive you, or any one;
nor have I done that of which I need be ashamed. Whatever reasons I
may have to repent of my misplaced confidence, I will make no secret
of that which now compels me to change my opinion of you; you will
find them amply detailed in this paper," at the same time putting into
my hand a letter from my father to Mr Somerville.

In a moment the mystery was unravelled, and conviction flashed in
my face like the priming of a musket. Guilty, and convicted on the
clearest evidence, I had nothing left for it, but to throw myself on
her mercy; but while I stood undecided, and unknowing what to do, Mr
Somerville entered, and welcomed me with kind, but cool hospitality.
Seeing Emily in tears, and my father's letter in her hand, he knew
that an _eclaircissement_ had taken place, or was in progress. In this
situation, candour, and an honest confession that I felt a _mauvaise
honte_ in disclosing my passion to my father would undoubtedly have
been my safest course; but my right trusty friend, the devil, stepped
in to my assistance, and suggested deceit, or a continuation of that
chain by which he had long since bound me, and not one link of which
he took care should ever be broken; and fortunately for me, this plan
answered, at the time, better than candour.