"Nay, Miss," said La Rue, "perhaps your mighty sense of propriety may

lead you to tell her yourself: and in order to avoid the censure you
would incur, should she hear of it by accident, throw the blame on me:

but I confess I deserve it: it will be a very kind return for
that partiality which led me to prefer you before any of the rest

of the ladies; but perhaps it will give you pleasure," continued she,
letting fall some hypocritical tears, "to see me deprived of bread,

and for an action which by the most rigid could only be esteemed
an inadvertency, lose my place and character, and be driven again

into the world, where I have already suffered all the evils attendant
on poverty. "

This was touching Charlotte in the most vulnerable part:
she rose from her seat, and taking Mademoiselle's hand--"You know,

my dear La Rue," said she, "I love you too well, to do anything
that would injure you in my governess's opinion: I am only sorry

we went out this evening."
"I don't believe it, Charlotte," said she, assuming a little vivacity;

"for if you had not gone out, you would not have seen the gentleman
who met us crossing the field; and I rather think you were pleased

with his conversation."
"I had seen him once before," replied Charlotte, "and thought

him an agreeable man; and you know one is always pleased to see
a person with whom one has passed several chearful hours.

"But," said she pausing, and drawing the letter from her pocket,
while a gentle suffusion of vermillion tinged her neck and face,

"he gave me this letter; what shall I do with it?"
"Read it, to be sure," returned Mademoiselle.

"I am afraid I ought not," said Charlotte: "my mother has often
told me, I should never read a letter given me by a young man,

without first giving it to her. "
"Lord bless you, my dear girl," cried the teacher smiling,

"have you a mind to be in leading strings all your life time.
Prithee open the letter, read it, and judge for yourself; if you

show it your mother, the consequence will be, you will be taken
from school, and a strict guard kept over you; so you will stand

no chance of ever seeing the smart young officer again."
"I should not like to leave school yet," replied Charlotte,

"till I have attained a greater proficiency in my Italian and music.
But you can, if you please, Mademoiselle, take the letter back

to Montraville, and tell him I wish him well, but cannot,
with any propriety, enter into a clandestine correspondence with him."

She laid the letter on the table, and began to undress herself.
"Well," said La Rue, "I vow you are an unaccountable girl:

have you no curiosity to see the inside now? for my part I could
no more let a letter addressed to me lie unopened so long,

than I could work miracles: he writes a good hand," continued she,
turning the letter, to look at the superscription.

"'Tis well enough," said Charlotte, drawing it towards her.
"He is a genteel young fellow," said La Rue carelessly,

folding up her apron at the same time; "but I think he is marked
with the small pox."

"Oh you are greatly mistaken," said Charlotte eagerly; "he has
a remarkable clear skin and fine complexion."

"His eyes, if I could judge by what I saw," said La Rue, "are grey
and want expression."

"By no means," replied Charlotte; "they are the most expressive
eyes I ever saw." "Well, child, whether they are grey or black

is of no consequence: you have determined not to read his letter;
so it is likely you will never either see or hear from him again."

Charlotte took up the letter, and Mademoiselle continued--
"He is most probably going to America; and if ever you should hear

any account of him, it may possibly be that he is killed; and though
he loved you ever so fervently, though his last breath should be

spent in a prayer for your happiness, it can be nothing to you:
you can feel nothing for the fate of the man, whose letters you

will not open, and whose sufferings you will not alleviate,
by permitting him to think you would remember him when absent,

and pray for his safety."
Charlotte still held the letter in her hand: her heart swelled

at the conclusion of Mademoiselle's speech, and a tear dropped upon
the wafer that closed it.

"The wafer is not dry yet," said she, "and sure there can
be no great harm--" She hesitated. La Rue was silent.

"I may read it, Mademoiselle, and return it afterwards."
"Certainly," replied Mademoiselle.

"At any rate I am determined not to answer it," continued Charlotte,
as she opened the letter.

Here let me stop to make one remark, and trust me my very heart
aches while I write it; but certain I am, that when once a woman

has stifled the sense of shame in her own bosom, when once she has
lost sight of the basis on which reputation, honour, every thing

that should be dear to the female heart, rests, she grows hardened
in guilt, and will spare no pains to bring down innocence and beauty

to the shocking level with herself: and this proceeds from that
diabolical spirit of envy, which repines at seeing another in the full

possession of that respect and esteem which she can no longer
hope to enjoy.

Mademoiselle eyed the unsuspecting Charlotte, as she perused the letter,
with a malignant pleasure. She saw, that the contents had awakened

new emotions in her youthful bosom: she encouraged her hopes,
calmed her fears, and before they parted for the night, it was

determined that she should meet Montraville the ensuing evening.
CHAPTER VIII.

DOMESTIC PLEASURES PLANNED.
"I THINK, my dear," said Mrs. Temple, laying her hand on her

husband's arm as they were walking together in the garden,
"I think next Wednesday is Charlotte's birth day: now I have formed

a little scheme in my own mind, to give her an agreeable surprise;
and if you have no objection, we will send for her home on that day."

Temple pressed his wife's hand in token of approbation, and she
proceeded.--"You know the little alcove at the bottom of the garden,

of which Charlotte is so fond? I have an inclination to deck
this out in a fanciful manner, and invite all her little friends

to partake of a collation of fruit, sweetmeats, and other things
suitable to the general taste of young guests; and to make it

more pleasing to Charlotte, she shall be mistress of the feast,
and entertain her visitors in this alcove. I know she will

be delighted; and to complete all, they shall have some music,
and finish with a dance. "

"A very fine plan, indeed," said Temple, smiling; "and you really
suppose I will wink at your indulging the girl in this manner?

You will quite spoil her, Lucy; indeed you will. "
"She is the only child we have," said Mrs. Temple, the whole

tenderness of a mother adding animation to her fine countenance;
but it was withal tempered so sweetly with the meek affection

and submissive duty of the wife, that as she paused expecting her
husband's answer, he gazed at her tenderly, and found he was unable

to refuse her request.
"She is a good girl," said Temple.

"She is, indeed," replied the fond mother exultingly, "a grateful,
affectionate girl; and I am sure will never lose sight of the duty

she owes her parents."
"If she does," said he, 'she must forget the example set her by

the best of mothers."
Mrs. Temple could not reply; but the delightfulsensation that

dilated her heart sparkled in her intelligent eyes and heightened
the vermillion on her cheeks.

Of all the pleasures of which the human mind is sensible,
there is none equal to that which warms and expands the bosom,

when listening to commendations bestowed on us by a beloved object,
and are conscious of having deserved them.

Ye giddy flutterers in the fantastic round of dissipation, who eagerly
seek pleasure in the lofty dome, rich treat, and midnight revel--

tell me, ye thoughtless daughters of folly, have ye ever found
the phantom you have so long sought with such unremitted assiduity?

Has she not always eluded your grasp, and when you have reached
your hand to take the cup she extends to her deluded votaries,

have you not found the long-expected draughtstrongly tinctured
with the bitter dregs of disappointment? I know you have: