to fathom this inscrutable mystery. What I have infinitely more at heart is the desire to clear my character in the eyes of Mr. Lindsay, without which I can have no peace.

I have always observed, my dear Georgiana, that heroines of novels, who are the only persons I believe that ever get into such scrapes as mine-all reasonable women in real life (excepting myself) having sense enough to keep clear of them,-always submit passively to the load of obloquy their own folly and imprudence, combined with untoward circumstances, have brought upon them; and yet, like injured innocents, they think themselves extremely ill used that any one should presume to believe even the evidence of his own senses against them. These indignant fair ones are much too high and mighty to deign to drop a word in explanation of the worst appearances-but maintain a dignified silence, reasonably expecting that they are to be considered spotless and innocent in the midst of the most incontrovertible apparent proof of their guilt.

For my part, not being like these heroines, in any thing-except some of their absurdities-I have no notion of sitting down quietly under imputations

and appearances so disgraceful as these I now labour under; and Lady Hunlocke, after hearing what has passed, is decidedly of opinion that it is indispensable to clear my character by disclosing the true state of the case, and all the circumstances attending it, to Mr. Lindsay ;-and as this explanation will come much better from her than from me, it is fortunate that she is well acquainted with him. She has already written to him-a simple but complete statement of every particular: and when Mr. Lindsay knows that the accident befell Mr. Breadalbane in consequence of my rashness, and of his saving my life,-when he knows the necessity of my constant attendance upon him, from the extent of his danger and from his having no human creature near him who could understand a word he said;-when he finds that I assumed the dress and character of a Swiss, and passed for Lady Hunlocke's attendant, in order that he might feel more at ease in accepting my services, than if he knew I was an English lady—and especially the lady whose life he had saved ;—when he understands that she herself is living in the house, and that the Pastor's old mother never leaves his room when I am in it, and that both Lady Hunlocke and myself would have left him the moment he

was considered out of danger-had she not been obliged to wait for the recovery of her servant from a fever and finally, when he learns that we positively go the day after to-morrow-I trust he will not only fully exonerate me from the dreadful inferences and imputations which he cannot but have drawn from what he has seen and heard-but even cease to condemn my conduct. I have also compelled Lady Hunlocke, most reluctantly, to add, that I particularly request him to preserve the strictest secresy respecting my real name and character to Mr. Breadalbane, to whom I am determined never to divulge it. She herself is most unwilling to keep this a secret from the latter any longer-but I am determined upon this point. She has also represented to Mr. Breadalbane, the misconstruction his friend must have put upon my appearance and situation, and the necessity of doing me the justice to vindicate my character and conduct from the unjust aspersions he has been the means of casting upon it. He exclaimed by heavens! he must think so! he does think so!— and instantly

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sat down and wrote to him a letter which he showed to Lady Hunlocke, and which she assures me is a most complete vindication of my character, and will, of itself, refute all Mr. Lindsay's

suspicions. I intreated Lady Hunlocke, for my future justification, to keep copies of Mr. Breadalbane's letter, and of her own-which she has done; Mr. Breadalbane most cheerfully consenting to copy his. With these letters Mr. Breadalbane has sent to Mr. Lindsay a letter he wrote two days ago, but had not sent off, to another friend of his, a Mr. Tollmarsh, which, he told Lady Hunlocke, would prove still more satisfactory and convincing to Mr. Lindsay, respecting my conduct, than any thing he could now say. In this, perhaps, he judges right, as Mr. Lindsay might impute his present declarations to his wish to save my character at the expence of truth. These letters were immediately sent off by an express to Interlachen, where I hope he will receive them this very night.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE SUIT.

O fair Katharine! if you will love me soundly
With your French heart, I will be glad to hear you
Confess it brokenly with your English tongue.

I swear by all the roses of the spring,
By manhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so, that maugre all my pride,
Nor sense nor reason can my passion hide.

SHAKSPEARE.

LETTER XXII.

CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.

Grindelwald, Sept. 26.

Tuesday Morning, Eight o'Clock.

To my unspeakable mortification and disappointment, our messenger returned from Interlachen this morning, with the letters. Mr. Lindsay was gone, and the stupid messenger did not know