ighbouring town, sir.

_Pereg._ Is he aware of your departure?

_Mary._ No, sir,

_Pereg._ And your mother--?

_Mary._ I was very little, when she died, sir.

_Pereg._ Has your father, since her death, treated you with cruelty?

_Mary._ He? Oh, bless him! no! he is the kindest father that ever
breathed, sir.

_Pereg._ How must such a father be agonized by the loss of his
child!

_Mary._ Pray, sir, don't talk of that!

_Pereg._ Why did you fly from him?

_Mary._ Sir, I----I----but that's my story, sir.

_Pereg._ Relate it, then.

_Mary._ Yes, sir.--You must know, then, sir, that--there was a young
gentleman in this neighbourhood, that--O dear, sir, I'm quite
ashamed!

_Pereg._ Come, child, I will relieve you from the embarrassment of
narration, and sum up your history in one word;--love.

_Mary._ That's the beginning of it, sir; but a great deal happen'd
afterwards.

_Pereg._ And who is the hero of your story, my poor girl?

_Mary._ The hero of----? O, I understand--he is much above me in
fortune, sir. To be sure, I should have thought of that, before he
got such power over my heart, to make me so wretched, now he has
deserted me.

_Pereg._ He would have thought of that, had his own heart been
generous.

_Mary._ He is reckon'd very generous, sir; he can afford to be so.
When the old gentleman dies, he will have all the great family
estate. I am going to the house, now, sir.

_Pereg._ For what purpose?

_Mary._ To try if I can see him for the last time, sir: to tell him
I shall always pray for his happiness, when I am far away from a
place which he has made it misery for me to abide in;--and to beg
him to give me a little supply of money, now I am pennyless, and
from home, to help me to London; where I may get into service, and
nobody will know me.

_Pereg._ And what are his reasons, child, for thus deserting you?

_Mary._ He sent me his reasons, by letter, yesterday, sir. He is to
be married next week, to a lady of high fortune. His father, he
says, insists upon it. I know I am born below him; but after the
oaths we plighted, Heaven knows, the news was a sad, sad shock to
me! I did not close my eyes last night; my poor brain was burning;
and, as soon as day broke, I left the house of my dear father, whom
I should tremble to look at, when he discover'd my story;--which I
could not long conceal from him.

_Pereg._ Poor, lovely, heart-bruised wanderer! O wealthy despoilers
of humble innocen