e road, and saw
Montraville approaching; he instantly conceived the diabolical scheme
of ruining the unhappy Charlotte in his opinion for ever; he therefore
stole softly up stairs, and laying himself by her side with the greatest
precaution, for fear she should awake, was in that situation discovered
by his credulous friend.

When Montraville spurned the weeping Charlotte from him, and left her
almost distracted with terror and despair, Belcour raised her from
the floor, and leading her down stairs, assumed the part of a tender,
consoling friend; she listened to the arguments he advanced with
apparent composure; but this was only the calm of a moment: the
remembrance of Montraville's recent cruelty again rushed upon her mind:
she pushed him from her with some violence, and crying--"Leave me, Sir,
I beseech you leave me, for much I fear you have been the cause of my
fidelity being suspected; go, leave me to the accumulated miseries my
own imprudence has brought upon me."

She then left him with precipitation, and retiring to her own apartment,
threw herself on the bed, and gave vent to an agony of grief which it is
impossible to describe.

It now occurred to Belcour that she might possibly write to Montraville,
and endeavour to convince him of her innocence: he was well aware of her
pathetic remonstrances, and, sensible of the tenderness of Montraville's
heart, resolved to prevent any letters ever reaching him: he therefore
called the servant, and, by the powerful persuasion of a bribe,
prevailed with her to promise whatever letters her mistress might write
should be sent to him. He then left a polite, tender note for Charlotte,
and returned to New-York. His first business was to seek Montraville,
and endeavour to convince him that what had happened would ultimately
tend to his happiness: he found him in his apartment, solitary, pensive,
and wrapped in disagreeable reflexions.

"Why how now, whining, pining lover?" said he, clapping him on the
shoulder. Montraville started; a momentary flush of resentment crossed
his cheek, but instantly gave place to a death-like paleness, occasioned
by painful remembrance remembrance awakened by that monitor, whom,
though we may in vain endeavour, we can never entirely silence.

"Belcour," said he, "you have injured me in a tender point." "Prithee,
Jack," replied Belcour, "do not make a serious matter of it: how could I
refuse the girl's advances? and thank heaven she is not your