deserted and forsaken as I am, without a friend of my own sex to whom I
can unburthen my full heart, nay, my fidelity suspected by the very man
for whom I have sacrificed every thing valuable in life, for whom I have
made myself a poor despised creature, an outcast from society, an object
only of contempt and pity."

"You think too meanly of yourself, Miss Temple: there is no one who
would dare to treat you with contempt: all who have the pleasure of
knowing you must admire and esteem. You are lonely here, my dear girl;
give me leave to conduct you to New-York, where the agreeable society
of some ladies, to whom I will introduce you, will dispel these sad
thoughts, and I shall again see returning cheerfulness animate those
lovely features."

"Oh never! never!" cried Charlotte, emphatically: "the virtuous part
of my sex will scorn me, and I will never associate with infamy. No,
Belcour, here let me hide my shame and sorrow, here let me spend my
few remaining days in obscurity, unknown and unpitied, here let me die
unlamented, and my name sink to oblivion." Here her tears stopped her
utterance. Belcour was awed to silence: he dared not interrupt her; and
after a moment's pause she proceeded--"I once had conceived the
thought of going to New-York to seek out the still dear, though cruel,
ungenerous Montraville, to throw myself at his feet, and entreat his
compassion; heaven knows, not for myself; if I am no longer beloved,
I will not be indebted to his pity to redress my injuries, but I would
have knelt and entreated him not to forsake my poor unborn--" She could
say no more; a crimson glow rushed over her cheeks, and covering her
face with her hands, she sobbed aloud.

Something like humanity was awakened in Belcour's breast by this