As I approached Mr. Vellum's hou&longs;e an hear&longs;e
and &longs;ix mourning coaches drove from the door.

Perhaps, &longs;aid I, the guardian is gone to give an
account of his guardian&longs;hip—and a very black account
I fear it will be—however I will go in;
perhaps I may learn &longs;omething concerning the
death of Horace, or gain &longs;ome intelligence which
may be &longs;erviceable to the haple&longs;s Julietta.

I put on my ring, and a &longs;ervant opening the door
&longs;oon afterwards, I entered unperceived.

I went into &longs;everal rooms before I found any body
likely to give me any &longs;atisfaction by their conversation.
At length I entered a chamber, where,
on an embroidered &longs;opha, lay Mr. Vellum, surrounded
by magnificence—but, good Heavens!
how changed from the man he once was—his face
was gha&longs;tly pale, his eyes &longs;unk, yet their motion
was &longs;o quick and fiery that they gave him the appearance
of a fiend rather than an human being.

Oppo&longs;ite to him, in a pen&longs;ive po&longs;ture, &longs;at a young
woman in a deep mourning habit; her face was

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partly concealed with her handkerchief, but the
part that appeared bore &longs;uch evident marks of sorrow,
that a &longs;avage mu&longs;t have felt his heart moved
with pity at the &longs;ight.

He is gone, gone for ever, cried Vellum, &longs;tarting
from the &longs;opha, and catching hold of the young
lady's hand—he is gone, He&longs;ter, and you know not
half the angui&longs;h of my &longs;oul.

My dear father, &longs;aid &longs;he, why will you give way
to unavailing &longs;orrow? the kind Power who lent
him to you has but re-called his own—it is the lot
of mortality—then, why my father, why will you
offend your Creator by repining at his divine will?

O, He&longs;ter, you do not know the dreadful circumstances
of your brother's death—alas! my
child, he ru&longs;hed unbidden into the prefence of his
Maker with multitudes of unrepented crimes upon
his head.

Did he de&longs;troy him&longs;elf? cried He&longs;tor, the look
of woe changing into that of inexpre&longs;&longs;ible horror.—
Oh! what could tempt him to the dreadful deed?

He&longs;ter, my beloved daughter, I was his murderer,
I was the cau&longs;e of the horrid act.

Forbid it, gracious God, &longs;he cried, cla&longs;ping her
hands and &longs;inking upon her knees—Oh! my father,
recall tho&longs;e &longs;hocking words; you was not,
could not be, &longs;o inhuman.

He&longs;ter, &longs;aid he, with a look of horrid firmne&longs;s,
I will unfold to you a tale which it is proper you
&longs;hould know; I may not long continue with you.—
I have been guilty of deeds which will make
your tender heart &longs;hudder to acknowledge me as a
parent—Oh! cur&longs;ed avarice, it was that which
led me to &longs;tain my &longs;oul with murder, and to ruin
my child, my darling &longs;on.—For him and for thee

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I would have gained an empire, though I had waded
to it through oceans of human blood: but to lead
him by vile per&longs;ua&longs;ions to agree to, and execute the
accur&longs;ed plot, and plunge him&longs;elf, for &longs;ordid ore, to
the lowe&longs;t aby&longs;s of hell.—Oh! it is more than I
can bear to think of—my &longs;oul is at this moment
&longs;uffering all the tortures of the damned—&longs;corpions,
flames, and furies hang about me—Horace, dear
murdered youth, well may you &longs;mile to &longs;ee my tortures.

Was Horace murdered! Oh! inhuman wretch,
cried He&longs;ter—then where is my &longs;weet Julietta?
have you murdered her too?

I hope &longs;he &longs;till lives, &longs;aid Vellum; and may
your gentle friend&longs;hip recall her wandering rea&longs;on,
for my cruelty has bereaved her of her &longs;en&longs;es; and
if &longs;he is alive, &longs;he is a poor, di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed lunatic.

Gracious Heaven! cried He&longs;ter, bur&longs;ting into a
flood of tears, and leaning her head upon the elbow
of the &longs;opha.

The lovely girl, continued her father, is in a miserable
cottage, on one of her own e&longs;tates, in Wiltshire,
where I have employed an old woman to
watch her, and, by har&longs;h treatment, prevent her returning
to rea&longs;on.

As to Horace he is no more.—When I &longs;ent him
abroad, as I &longs;aid, for education, your brother went
with him—we laid the &longs;hocking plot before the
ve&longs;&longs;el &longs;ailed; and one night as they were walking
the deck together, your brother pu&longs;hed Horace into
the &longs;ea—the ve&longs;&longs;el was &longs;ailing before the wind,
and he was lo&longs;t in a moment.

You, my dear He&longs;ter, I knew would be an obstacle
to the&longs;e helli&longs;h &longs;chemes, and for that rea&longs;on I
&longs;ent you to France.—About three weeks &longs;ince your

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brother had a thou&longs;and pounds of me; and in a few
days after, applied for more; it was then I discovered
he had a propen&longs;ity for gaming—I remonstrated
with him on the folly of &longs;uch a pur&longs;uit, and
refu&longs;ed him a &longs;upply—high words en&longs;ued—he accused
me of being a murderer; of drawing him
in to participate the crime, and then refu&longs;ing him
a participation of the wealth I had by that means
gained.—It is impo&longs;&longs;ible for you to conceive the
terrors that &longs;eized my mind during this conversation;
I actually formed the re&longs;olution of giving this
darling of my &longs;oul into the hands of ju&longs;tice, and
thereby &longs;aving my own wretched life—but before
I could execute my intention, I was alarmed by
the di&longs;charge of a pi&longs;tol—I ran to your brother's
room, and &longs;aw him weltering in his blood, a pi&longs;tol
clenched in his hand.

Go, leave me, &longs;aid he, as I approached him;
add not, by thy hateful pre&longs;ence, to the horror of
this moment—I thought, by dying, to &longs;hut out life
and mi&longs;ery together, to fly from the terrors of a
reproaching con&longs;cience; but, alas! my mi&longs;eries
are but ju&longs;t beginning.

Oh! thou dete&longs;ted, wretched old man, continued
he, drawing me forcibly towards him, thou art ignorant
what a ta&longs;k thou ha&longs;t yet to perform: Go,
lo&longs;e not a moment, but u&longs;e every method to re&longs;tore
that injured angel Julietta to her &longs;en&longs;es—give her
back her fortune—and do thou retire to &longs;ome desert—
fa&longs;t, pray, and lay upon the cold ground—
years and years &longs;pent in &longs;upplication will hardly
gain that pardon you &longs;o much need.—There is!
there is! an hereafter—I feel it now ru&longs;h on my
guilty &longs;oul.—You do not know how hard it is to
die, to plunge at once into eternity.—Oh! murder,
murder cannot be forgiven.

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At that in&longs;tant he expired with a groan, &longs;o hollow,
that it &longs;till vibrates in my ears.

I hear thee, Oh! thou guilty &longs;hade—I will obey
thee.

He&longs;ter, continued Vellum, I have &longs;ent for you
home, that you may admini&longs;ter comfort to Julietta—
here, take this paper, and go prepare for your
journey; when you are &longs;eparated from me, open
it; you will there find full in&longs;tructions how to act—
leave me, my child; I am now more compo&longs;ed,
I may perhaps take &longs;ome re&longs;t.

He&longs;ter gladly retired.

I &longs;aw from the agitation of her features, though
&longs;he could not but pity the di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;es of her father's
mind, it was impo&longs;&longs;ible for her any longer to love
him.

That ta&longs;k is over, &longs;aid Vellum, as &longs;he &longs;hut the
door—now, what remains?—to pray for pardon.—
Pardon for what?—Murder. Ah! that is not all;
my &longs;oul is loaded with crimes.—Fraud, perjury,
oppre&longs;&longs;ion, are in the horrid catalogue!—the widows,
the fatherle&longs;s children whom I have oppressed,
will ri&longs;e up in judgment again&longs;t me.—Mercy—
Oh! mercy ju&longs;t God!—but wretch that I am,
did I ever &longs;hew mercy—will that ju&longs;t Creator then
&longs;hew mercy to me?—No—for I mu&longs;t appear at a
tribunal where every one will be rewarded according
to his works.

Oh that I was annihilated!—that I had never
lived—for the di&longs;traction of my mind is too mighty
to be borne—I will not bear it—I will end
my tortures—my life is in my own power; and it
is but to plunge at once into evils which cannot be
more dreadful than this con&longs;tant terror.—This is
the in&longs;trument, &longs;aid he, taking a pi&longs;tol from his
pocket.

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