CHAPTER XVI.
LADY MARCHMONT'S JOURNAL.
Deep in the heart is an avenging power,
Conscious of right and wrong. There is no shape
Reproach can take, one-half so terrible
As when that shape is given by ourselves.
Justice hath needful punishments, and crime
Is a predestined thing to punishment.
Or soon, or late, there will be no escape
From the stern consequence of its own act.
But in ourself is Fate's worst minister:
There is no wretchedness like self-reproach.
He did not call yesterday at the usual hour. How intolerably long the morning seemed; and yet I owed it a new pleasure, it brought my first note from him. I now know his hand-writing; it is graceful, almost, as a woman's. I shall not see him till to-morrow. Ah! is it true that I, and I only, shall be
