Among the nefarious deeds which he perpetrated was to be numbered the
seduction of a young lady, whose heart was broken by the detection of
his perfidy. The fruit of this unhappy union was a daughter. Her mother
died shortly after her birth. Her father was careless of her destiny. She was consigned to the care of a hireling, who, happily for the
innocent victim, performed the maternal offices for her own sake, and
did not allow the want of a stipulated recompense to render hor cruel or
neglectful. This orphan was sought out by the benevolence of Mrs. Lorimer and placed
under her own protection. She received from her the treatment of a
mother. The ties of kindred, corroborated by habit, was not the only
thing that united them. That resemblance to herself which had been so
deplorably defective in her brother was completely realized in his
offspring. Nature seemed to have precluded every difference between them
but that of age. This darling object excited in her bosom more than
maternal sympathies. Her soul clung to the happiness of her
_Clarice_ with more ardour than to that of her own son. The latter
was not only less worthy of affection, but their separation necessarily
diminished their mutual confidence. It was natural for her to look forward to the future destiny of
_Clarice_. On these occasions she could not help contemplating the
possibility of a union between her son and niece. Considerable
advantages belonged to this scheme, yet it was the subject of hope
rather than the scope of a project. The contingencies were numerous and
delicate on which the ultimate desirableness of this union depended. She
was far from certain that her son would be worthy of this benefit, or
that, if he were worthy, his propensities would not select for
themselves a different object. It was equally dubious whether the young
lady would not think proper otherwise to dispose of her affections. These uncertainties could be dissipated only by time. Meanwhile she was
chiefly solicitous to render them virtuous and wise. As they advanced in years, the hopes that she had formed were
annihilated. The youth was not exempt from egregious errors. In addition
to this, it was manifest that the young people were disposed to regard
each other in no other light than that of brother and sister. I was not
unapprized of her views. I saw that their union was impossible. I was
near enough to judge of the character of Clarice. My youth and
intellectual constitution made me peculiarly susceptible to female
charms. I was her playfellow in childhood, and her associate in studies
and amusements at a maturer age. This situation might have been
suspected of a dangerous tendency. This tendency, however, was obviated
by motives of which I was, for a long time, scarcely conscious. I was habituated to consider the distinctions of rank as indelible. The
obstructions that existed, to any wish that I might form, were like
those of time and space, and, in their own nature, as insuperable. Such was the state of things previous to our setting out upon our
travels. Clarice was indirectly included in our correspondence. My
letters were open to her inspection, and I was sometimes honoured with a
few complimentary lines under her own hand. On returning to my ancient
abode, I was once more exposed to those sinister influences which
absence had at least suspended. Various suitors had, meanwhile, been
rejected. Their character, for the most part, had been such as to
account for her refusal, without resorting to the supposition of a
lurking or unavowed attachment. On our meeting she greeted me in a respectful but dignified manner. Observers could discover in it nothing not corresponding to that
difference of fortune which subsisted between us. If her joy, on that
occasion, had in it some portion of tenderness, the softness of her
temper, and the peculiar circumstances in which we had been placed,
being considered, the most rigid censor could find no occasion for blame
or suspicion. A year passed away, but not without my attention being solicited by
something new and inexplicable in my own sensations. At first I was not
aware of their true cause; but the gradual progress of my feelings left
me not long in doubt as to their origin. I was alarmed at the discovery,
but my courage did not suddenly desert me. My hopes seemed to be
extinguished the moment that I distinctly perceived the point to which
they led. My mind had undergone a change. The ideas with which it was
fraught wrere varied. The sight or recollection of Clarice was sure to
occasion my mind to advert to the recent discovery, and to revolve the
considerations naturally connected with it. Some latent glows and secret
trepidations were likewise experienced, when, by some accident, our
meetings were abrupt or our interviews unwitnessed; yet my usual
tranquillity was not as yet sensibly diminished. I could bear to think
of her marriage with another without painful emotions, and was anxious
only that her choice should be judicious and fortunate. My thoughts could not long continue in this state. They gradually became
more ardent and museful. The image of Clarice occurred with unseasonable
frequency. Its charms were enhanced by some nameless and indefinable
additions. When it met me in the way I was irresistibly disposed to stop
and survey it with particular attention. The pathetic cast of her
features, the deep glow of her cheek, and some catch of melting music
she had lately breathed, stole incessantly upon my fancy. On recovering
from my thoughtful moods, I sometimes found my cheeks wet with tears
that had fallen unperceived, and my bosom heaved with involuntary sighs. These images did not content themselves with invading my wakeful hours,
but, likewise, encroached upon my sleep. I could no longer resign myself
to slumber with the same ease as before. When I slept, my visions were
of the same impassioned tenor. There was no difficulty in judging rightly of my situation. I knew what
it was that duty exacted from me. To remain in my present situation was
a chimerical project. That time and reflection would suffice to restore
me to myself was a notion equally fallacious. Yet I felt an
insupportable reluctance to change it. This reluctance was owing, not
wholly or chiefly to my growing passion, but to the attachment which
bound me to the service of my lady. All my contemplations had hitherto
been modelled on the belief of my remaining in my present situation
during my life. My mildest anticipations had never fashioned an event
like this. Any misfortune was light in comparison with that which tore
me from her presence and service. But, should I ultimately resolve to
separate, how should I communicate my purpose? The pain of parting would
scarcely be less on her side than on mine. Could I consent to be the
author of disquietude to her? I had consecrated all my faculties to her
service. This was the recompense which it was in my power to make for
the benefits that I had received.