As it was rather

pride than prudence which induced me to seek a country where I might fearlessly assert my every right, that project was now rejected from the very motive which first dictated it.—A mystery my nature ever disdained. Resolved to comprehend all the motives on which Murray wished me to act, I ordered every thing to be replaced, and sat down once more quietly at home; resolved to brave the storm, if indeed there was any gathering, rather than ascertain my safety by a disgraceful flight. I once more wrote to Sir David, acquainting him with my present conduct, and its reasons, insisting on being fully informed of those which actuated him to offer me advice so singular and mysterious.—How insinitely was my impatience, curiosity, and disdain, heightened by his answer!—"I hear with admiration, madam, a determination which from a perfect knowledge of your character, I ought, perhaps, to have foreseen; nevertheless, my sentiments are not altered, nor less urged durst I divulge the

reasons on which they are grounded: but decorum and delicacy give way to your commands, and the occasion. Nevertheless, I find it impossible to commit them to paper.—Dare you give me admission at midnight?—I shall be near your gate upon the chance, but be wary in the choice of my conductor, as perhaps my life, nay, even your own, depends upon its being supposed you never had any private correspondence or communication with me."
How did my nature take fire at this incomprehensible letter!—Me to stoop to secresy!—to be exposed to shame!—The unknown danger with which he represented me to be environed, appeared wholly indifferent; so exquisitely sensible was my soul of the imputation of dishonor.—At times I resolved to shut out Murray, and leave the brooding mischief to disclose itself by its effects; but love for my daughter controling the strong spirit of indignation inseparable from innocence, I yielded to the sugges

tions of prudence, and prepared to admit him.—Inured to every other species of suffering, I knew not how to blush before any human being.
My perplexed and agitated mind passed through the infinitude of possibilities without fixing upon one.—At times, I imagined all the caution of the royal Henry had been insufficient, and that the King, by means of some lost or secreted letter, had been fully apprized of his son's attachment to us, and the hopes that were grounded upon it; though even then, I knew not why my life should be in the question; still less could I imagine it endangered, had his