"I left the Convent about six months after, and frequently, when I wrote to my companions, inquired if any information had been gained of Louisa; but no one had obtained the least intelligence, and I have often thought it was a very singular circumstance. It is now near three years since I saw her, and it is certain some uncommon misfortunes must have reduced her father to that poverty which is apparent in the dress of Louisa, and the situation in which we met with them. Last night, when I accompanied her to her room, she kissed my hand with an energy that surprised me.—"Dear Miss D'Alenberg, I deserve not the honour of your attention; I am an unfortunate wretch, a victim to my own credulity, and the baseness of a perjured man; my follies, for sure they were not crimes, yet why should I seek to soften those errors that have eventually destroyed my dear unhappy father! There, there," cried she, in extreme agitation, "is the climax of my miseries!'
