 Miss Mowbray, I scruple not to speak of this beloved and
lamented woman; tho' her name is sacred with me, and has never yet been
mentioned united with dishonour.

'The connection between our families first introduced me to her
acquaintance. In her person she was exquisitely lovely, and her manners
were as enchanting as her form. The sprightly gaiety of unsuspecting
inexperience, was, I thought, sometimes checked by an involuntary
sentiment of regret at the sacrifice she had made, by marrying a man
every way unworthy of her; except by that fortune to which she was
indifferent, and of which he was hastening to divest himself.

'I had never seen Mr. Trelawny; and knew him for some time only from
report. But when he came to Lough Carryl, my pity for her, encreased in
proportion to the envy and indignation with which I beheld the
insensible and intemperate husband--incapable of feeling for her, any
other sentiment, than what she might equally have inspired in the lowest
of mankind.

'Her unaffected simplicity; her gentle confidence in my protection
during a voyage in which her ill-assorted mate left her entirely to my
care; made me rather consider her as my sister than as an object of
seduction. I resolved to be the guardian rather than the betrayer of her
honour--and I long kept my resolution.'

Fitz-Edward then proceeded to relate the circumstances that attended the
ruin of Trelawny's fortune; and that Lady Adelina was left to struggle
with innumerable difficulties, unassisted but by himself, to whom Lord
Clancarryl had delegated the task of treating with Trelawny's sister and
creditors.

'Her gratitude,' continued he, 'for the little assistance I was able to
give her, was boundless; and as pity had already taught me to love her
with more ardour than her beauty only, captivating as it is, would have
inspired; gratitude led her too easily into tender sentiments for me. I
am not a presuming coxcomb; but she was infinitely too artless to
conceal her partiality; and neither her misfortunes, or her being the
sister of my friend Godolphin, protected her against the libertinism of
my principles.'

He went on to relate the deep melancholy that seized Lady Adelina; and
his own terror and remorse when he found her one morning gone from her
lodgings, where she had left no direction; and from her proceeding it
was evident she designed to conceal herself from his enquiries.

'God knows,' pursued he, 'what is now become of her!--perhaps, when most
in need of tenderness and
