agitated soul. I
will write to her to return immediately.'
"Oh!" said Mrs. Temple, "I would if possible fly to her, support and
cheer the dear sufferer in the approaching hour of distress, and tell
her how nearly penitence is allied to virtue. Cannot we go and conduct
her home, my love?" continued she, laying her hand on his arm. "My
father will surely forgive our absence if we go to bring home his
darling."
"You cannot go, my Lucy," said Mr. Temple: "the delicacy of your frame
would but poorly sustain the fatigue of a long voyage; but I will go and
bring the gentle penitent to your arms: we may still see many years of
happiness."
The struggle in the bosom of Mrs. Temple between maternal and conjugal
tenderness was long and painful. At length the former triumphed, and she
consented that her husband should set forward to New-York by the first
opportunity: she wrote to her Charlotte in the tenderest, most consoling
manner, and looked forward to the happy hour, when she should again
embrace her, with the most animated hope.
CHAPTER XXVI.
WHAT MIGHT BE EXPECTED.
IN the mean time the passion Montraville had conceived for Julia
Franklin daily encreased, and he saw evidently how much he was beloved
by that amiable girl: he was likewise strongly prepossessed with an idea
of Charlotte's perfidy. What wonder then if he gave himself up to the
delightful sensation which pervaded his bosom; and finding no obstacle
arise to oppose his happiness, he solicited and obtained the hand of
Julia. A few days before his marriage he thus addressed Belcour:
"Though Charlotte, by her abandoned conduct, has thrown herself from my
protection, I still hold myself bound to support her till relieved
from her present condition, and also to provide for the child. I do not
intend to see her again, but I will place a sum of money in your hands,
which will amply supply her with every convenience; but should she
require more, let her have it, and I will see it repaid. I wish I could
prevail on the poor deluded girl to return to her friends: she was an
only child, and I make no doubt but that they would joyfully receive
her; it would shock me greatly to see her henceforth leading a life of
infamy, as I should always accuse myself of being the primary cause of
all her errors. If she should chuse to remain under your protection, be
kind to her, Belcour, I conjure you. Let not satiety prompt you to treat
her in such a manner, as may drive
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