"I must bear that reproach as I can; but I do not deserve it, Mr. Erskine."
Erskine imagined he perceived some relenting in the faltering of her voice, and he said, "Do not be implacable, Jane; you are too young, too beautiful, to treat the follies of youth as if they were incurable; give me a few months probation, I will do any thing you require; abandon the club, give up my friends."
Jane paused for a moment, but there was no wavering in her resolution—"No, Mr. Erskine; we must part now; if I loved you, I could not resist the pleadings of my heart."
Erskine entreated—promised every thing; till convinced that Jane did not deceive him or herself, his vanity and pride, mortified and wounded, came to his relief, and changed his entreaties to sarcasms. He said the rigour that would immolate every human feeling, would fit her to be the Elect Lady of a Shaker society; he assured her that he would emulate her stoicism.
"I am no stoic," replied Jane; and the tears gushed from her eyes. "Oh, Erskine! I would make any exertions, any sacrifices to render you what I once thought you. I would watch and toil to win you to virtue—to heaven. If I believed you loved me, I could still hope, for I know that affection is self-devoting, and may overcome all things. Edward," she continued, with a trembling voice, "there is one subject, and that nearest to my heart, on which I discovered soon after our engagement we were at utter variance. When I
