rceive a proper
share of self-denial. Many, many floods of bitter tears of repentance
and regret have I shed over my past conduct; and I trust, that what I
have suffered and what I shall suffer, will be received as my atonement
at the Throne of Grace. True, I once looked forward to the happy period
of our union, when I might have offered myself to you, not as a
portionless bride; but I was checked by one maddening, burning,
inextinguishable thought. I could not be received into that society to
which you were entitled. I felt that I loved you, Frank,--loved you too
well to betray you. The woman that had so little respect for herself
was unfit to be the wife of Francis Mildmay.

"Besides, how could I do my sweet boy the injustice to allow him to have
brothers and sisters possessing legitimate advantages over him? I felt
that our union never could be one of happiness, even if you consented to
take me as your wife, of which I had my doubts; and when I discovered,
through my emissaries, that you were on the point of marriage with Miss
Somerville, I felt that it was all for the best; that I had no right to
complain; the more so as it was I who (I blush to say it) had seduced
you.

"But Frank, if I cannot be your wife--and, alas! I know too well that
that is impossible--will you allow me to be your friend, your dear
friend, as the mother of your child, or, if you please, as your sister?
But there the sacred line is drawn; it is a compact between my God and
myself. You know my firmness and decision; once maturely deliberated,
my resolution formed, it is not, I think, in man to turn me. Do not,
therefore, make the attempt; it will only end in your certain defeat and
shame, and in my withdrawing from your sight for ever. You will not, I
am sure, pay me so bad a compliment as to wish me to renew the follies
of my youth. If you love me, respect me, promise by the love you bear
to Miss Somerville, and your affection for this poor boy, that you will
do as I wish you. Your honour and peace of mind, as well as mine,
demand it."

This severe rebuke from a quarter whence I least expected it, threw me
back with shame and confusion. As if a mirror had been held up to me, I
saw my own deformity. I saw that Eugenia was not only the guardian of
her own honour, but of mine, and of the happiness of Miss Somerville,
against whom I now stood convicted of foul deceit and shameful wrong. I
acknowledged my fault; I assured Eugenia