wrung my heart as much as it has wounded your's.
This address, so unexpected, penetrated to my heart. Joy, hope, fear, and doubt, by turns assailed me.—Love had but a small share in my emotions; for that had received too rude a shock; but my fame, my character, was of far too much consequence to reject the possibility of its being established.—Yet still I involuntarily hesitated. He saw the conflict in my mind.—"I do not blame your want of confidence," said he; "I have deserved it; but respect yourself, if you no longer esteem me." Those words were like a talisman. My dear father recurred to my mind, softened my heart, and I burst into tears, yielding up my, 'till then, repulsive hand to him, with a look, that I saw covered him with confusion, and which I then thought was the effusion of a self-convicted mind.—He desired to breakfast with me. I readily complied, but very little conversation ensued. I was afraid of saying too much on my present prospects, lest it should be a tacit re-
