Agatha.
I will, I will. But—my tongue is locked with remorſe and ſhame. You muſt not look at me.
Frederick.
Not look at you! Curſed be that ſon who could find his mother guilty, although the world ſhould call her ſo.
Agatha.
Then liſten to me, and take notice of that village, [pointing] of that caſtle, and of that church. In that village I was born—in that church I was baptiſed. My parents were poor, but reputable farmers.—The lady of that caſtle and eſtate requeſted them to let me live with her, and ſhe would provide for me through life. They reſigned me; and at the age of fourteen I went to my patroneſs. She took pleaſure to inſtruct me in all kinds of female literature and accompliſhments, and three happy years had paſſed under her protection, when her only ſon, who was an officer in the Saxon ſervice, obtained permiſſion to come home. I had never ſeen him before—he was a handſome young man—in my eyes a prodigy; for he talked of love, and promiſed me marriage. He was the firſt man who had ever ſpoken to me on ſuch a ſubject.—His flattery made me vain, and his repeated vows——Don’t look at me, dear Frederick!—I can ſay no more. [Frederick with his eyes caſt down, takes her hand, and puts it to his heart.] Oh! oh! my ſon! I was intoxicated by the fervent careſſes of a young, inexperienced, capricious, man, and did not recover from the delirium till it was too late.
Frederick. [after a pauſe].
Go on, Let me knew more of my father.
Agatha.
When the time drew near that I could no longer
