ught her mind to some
tolerable degree of composure, she was surprised by a visit from
Belcour. The dejection visible in Charlotte's countenance, her swoln
eyes and neglected attire, at once told him she was unhappy: he made no
doubt but Montraville had, by his coldness, alarmed her suspicions,
and was resolved, if possible, to rouse her to jealousy, urge her to
reproach him, and by that means occasion a breach between them. "If I
can once convince her that she has a rival," said he, "she will listen
to my passion if it is only to revenge his slights." Belcour knew but
little of the female heart; and what he did know was only of those of
loose and dissolute lives. He had no idea that a woman might fall a
victim to imprudence, and yet retain so strong a sense of honour, as to
reject with horror and contempt every solicitation to a second fault.
He never imagined that a gentle, generous female heart, once tenderly
attached, when treated with unkindness might break, but would never
harbour a thought of revenge.

His visit was not long, but before he went he fixed a scorpion in the
heart of Charlotte, whose venom embittered every future hour of her
life.

We will now return for a moment to Colonel Crayton. He had been three
months married, and in that little time had discovered that the
conduct of his lady was not so prudent as it ought to have been: but
remonstrance was vain; her temper was violent; and to the Colonel's
great misfortune he had conceived a sincere affection for her: she saw
her own power, and, with the art of a Circe, made every action appear
to him in what light she pleased: his acquaintance laughed at his
blindness, his friends pitied his infatuation, his amiable daughter,
Mrs. Beauchamp, in secret deplored the loss of her father's affection,
and grieved that he should be so entirely swayed by an artful, and, she
much feared, infamous woman.

Mrs. Beauchamp was mild and engaging; she loved not the hurry and bustle
of a city, and had prevailed on her husband to take a house a few
miles from New-York. Chance led her into the same neighbourhood with
Charlotte; their houses stood within a short space of each other, and
their gardens joined: she had not been long in her new habitation before
the figure of Charlotte struck her; she recollected her interesting
features; she saw the melancholy so conspicuous in her countenance,
and her heart bled at the reflection, that perhaps deprived of honour,
friends, al