"And yet, within this moment, a thought has occurred from which I derive
some consolation and some hope. You, dear madam, are rich. These
spacious apartments, this plentiful accommodation, are yours. You have
enough for your own gratification and convenience, and somewhat to
spare. Will you take to your protecting arms, to your hospitable roof,
an unhappy girl whom the arts of Welbeck have robbed of fortune,
reputation, and honour, who is now languishing in poverty, weeping over
the lifeless remains of her babe, surrounded by the agents of vice, and
trembling on the verge of infamy?" "What can this mean?" replied the lady. "Of whom do you speak?" "You shall know her. You shall be apprized of her claims to your
compassion. Her story, as far as is known to me, I will faithfully
repeat to you. She is a stranger; an Italian; her name is Clemenza
Lodi." "Clemenza Lodi! Good heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth; "why, surely--it
cannot be. And yet--is it possible that you are that person?" "I do not comprehend you, madam." "A friend has related a transaction of a strange sort. It is scarcely an
hour since she told it me. The name of Clemenza Lodi was mentioned in
it, and a young man of most singular deportment was described. But tell
me how you were engaged on Thursday morning." "I was coming to this city from a distance. I stopped ten minutes at the
house of----"

"Mrs. Villars?" "The same. Perhaps you know her and her character. Perhaps you can
confirm or rectify my present opinions concerning her. It is there that
the unfortunate Clemenza abides. It is thence that I wish her to be
speedily removed." "I have heard of you; of your conduct upon that occasion." "Of me?" answered I, eagerly. "Do you know that woman?" So saying, I
produced the card which I had received from her, and on which her name
was written. "I know her well. She is my countrywoman and my friend." "Your friend? Then she is good; she is innocent; she is generous. Will
she be a sister, a protectress, to Clemenza? Will you exhort her to a
deed of charity? Will you be, yourself, an example of beneficence? Direct me to Miss Fielding, I beseech you. I have called on her already,
but in vain, and there is no time to be lost." "Why are you so precipitate? What would you do?" "Take her away from that house instantly--bring her hither--place her
under your protection--give her Mrs. Wentworth for a counsellor--a
friend--a mother. Shall I do this? Shall I hie thither to-day, this very
hour--now? Give me your consent, and she shall be with you before noon." "By no means," replied she, with earnestness. "You are too hasty. An
affair of so much importance cannot be despatched in a moment. There are
many difficulties and doubts to be first removed." "Let them be reserved for the future. Withhold not your helping hand
till the struggle has disappeared forever. Think on the gulf that is
already gaping to swallow her. This is no time to hesitate and falter. I
will tell you her story, but not now; we will postpone it till
to-morrow, and first secure her from impending evils. She shall tell it
you herself. In an hour I will bring her hither, and she herself shall
recount to you her sorrows. Will you let me?" "Your behaviour is extraordinary. I can scarcely tell whether this
simplicity be real or affected. One would think that your common sense
would show you the impropriety of your request. To admit under my roof a
woman notoriously dishonoured, and from an infamous house----"

"My dearest madam! How can you reflect upon the situation without
irresistible pity? I see that you are thoroughly aware of her past
calamity and her present danger. Do not these urge you to make haste to
her relief? Can any lot be more deplorable than hers? Can any state be
more perilous? Poverty is not the only evil that oppresses or that
threatens her. The scorn of the world, and her own compunction, the
death of the fruit of her error and the witness of her shame, are not
the worst. She is exposed to the temptations of the profligate; while
she remains with Mrs. Villars, her infamy accumulates; her further
debasement is facilitated; her return to reputation and to virtue is
obstructed by new bars." "How know I that her debasement is not already complete and
irremediable? She is a mother, but not a wife. How came she thus? Is her
being Welbeck's prostitute no proof of her guilt?" "Alas! I know not. I believe her not very culpable; I know her to be
unfortunate; to have been robbed and betrayed. You are a stranger to her
history. I am myself imperfectly acquainted with it. "But let me tell you the little that I know. Perhaps my narrative may
cause you to think of her as I do." She did not object to this proposal, and I immediately recounted all
that I had gained from my own observations, or from Welbeck himself,
respecting this forlorn girl. Having finished my narrative, I proceeded
thus:--

"Can you hesitate to employ that power which was given you for good
ends, to rescue this sufferer? Take her to your home; to your bosom; to
your confidence. Keep aloof those temptations which beset her in her
present situation. Restore her to that purity which her desolate
condition, her ignorance, her misplaced gratitude and the artifices of a
skilful dissembler, have destroyed, if it be destroyed; for how know we
under what circumstances her ruin was accomplished? With what pretences,
or appearances, or promises, she was won to compliance?" "True. I confess my ignorance; but ought not that ignorance to be
removed before she makes a part of my family?" "Oh, no! It may be afterwards removed. It cannot be removed before. By
bringing her hither you shield her, at least, from future and possible
evils. Here you can watch her conduct and sift her sentiments
conveniently and at leisure. Should she prove worthy of your charity,
how justly may you congratulate yourself on your seasonable efforts in
her cause! If she prove unworthy, you may then demean yourself according
to her demerits." "I must reflect upon it.--To-morrow----"

"Let me prevail on you to admit her at once, and without delay. This
very moment may be the critical one. To-day we may exert ourselves with
success, but to-morrow all our efforts may be fruitless. Why fluctuate,
why linger, when so much good may be done, and no evil can possibly be
incurred? It requires but a word from you; you need not move a finger. Your house is large. You have chambers vacant and convenient. Consent
only that your door shall not be barred against her; that you will treat
her with civility: to carry your kindness into effect; to persuade her
to attend me hither and to place herself in your care, shall be my
province." These and many similar entreaties and reasonings were ineffectual. Her
general disposition was kind, but she was unaccustomed to strenuous or
sudden exertions.