My lot is hard, Celia, very hard; but
I endeavour to keep up my &longs;pirits, as
well as I am able, and conduct my&longs;elf in &longs;uch
a manner as my own heart may acquit me.

When I was quite recovered from my illness,
my mother called me one day into her

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

dre&longs;&longs;ing-room and a&longs;&longs;ured me, &longs;he would pardon
my elopement, on condition I would inform
her of the cau&longs;e, and by what means
I came in the &longs;hocking &longs;ituation already described.
You may be certain I felt my&longs;elf
greatly agitated, as I knew I could not give
this dear parent the &longs;atisfaction &longs;he required,
without planting a dagger in her heart. Indeed,
my friend, I cannot but feel thankful,
that in my frenzy I did not di&longs;cover the whole
horrid &longs;ecret, as it would have only involved
us all in much greater di&longs;tre&longs;s than we
experience at pre&longs;ent.

I remained &longs;ilent to my mother's que&longs;tion,
but could not re&longs;train my tears. She repeated
it; conjuring me, in the mo&longs;t &longs;olemn
manner, not to trifle with her, but to tell
her what urged me to de&longs;ert my home and
friends.

“Oh! my dear mother,” &longs;aid I, “do
not a&longs;k, indeed I cannot tell you. Suffer me
to be &longs;ilent on this &longs;ubject; and, in every future
action of my life, I will implicitly obey
you.” “I fear, Meriel,” &longs;aid my mother,
“you have &longs;ome unworthy rea&longs;ons for this
concealment: tell me, then, who advi&longs;ed you
to this imprudent &longs;tep, and who accompanied
you in your flight?” “No one,” &longs;aid I,
“the re&longs;olution was ha&longs;tily formed, and as

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hastily executed; but I had no advi&longs;er, no companion,
nor do I think I ever went farther
than the wood, where I was di&longs;covered.”

“Meriel! Meriel!” &longs;aid my mother, “I
cannot believe you. It appears altogether
improbable, that a young woman, without
any apparent cau&longs;e, &longs;hould form a ha&longs;ty resolution
of running away; that &longs;he &longs;hould
chu&longs;e a tempe&longs;tuous night to make her
e&longs;cape, without a companion, and hide her&longs;elf
in a wood with a de&longs;ign to &longs;tarve her&longs;elf to
death. Tell me, child, and tell me sincerely,
did you not once love Pringle?” “I
thought I did, but it was a mi&longs;take of the
heart.”

“I fear, Meriel, that mi&longs;take has led to
your ruin: he certainly accompanied you in
your flight, and my child is lo&longs;t to honour
and to virtue. Is not this the cau&longs;e of your
ob&longs;tinate &longs;ilence: do you not fear that the
villain, whom in your heart you &longs;till love,
&longs;hould be brought to an&longs;wer for his inhuman
de&longs;ertion of you.”

“Oh! no my dear mother,” &longs;aid I, redoubling
my tears, “indeed you wrong me,
I never entertained a thought that I &longs;hould
blu&longs;h to own, and if it was my la&longs;t moment,
I could, with &longs;afety to my con&longs;cience,

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declare that neither Mr. Pringle, nor any of
his family knew of my going away.”

“Strange infatuation,” &longs;aid &longs;he, angrily,
“to a&longs;&longs;ert &longs;uch fal&longs;ehoods. Oh Meriel! I
had hoped better from you; but I am &longs;orry
to &longs;ay, in this in&longs;tance, I can place no confidence
in your veracity.” Here my father
entered the room, and would you believe it
po&longs;&longs;ible, Celia, he repeated to me every question
which my mother had a&longs;ked before. Astonishment
riveted my tongue. I could not
an&longs;wer. My &longs;ilence was accounted obstinacy,
and my dear mother left me with the&longs;e
cruel words: “Di&longs;&longs;embling, ob&longs;tinate girl,
I can never love you as I once did, though I
will &longs;trive to forgive you.”

My father &longs;carcely now ever &longs;peaks to me,
and &longs;eems in his heart to hate me, as he
takes every opportunity in his power of
mortifying me; con&longs;trues my mo&longs;t innocent
actions into faults, and is continually complaining
to my mother of my indolence, and
&longs;ulkine&longs;s, as he inhumanely terms that want
of vivacity, for which he &longs;o well knows how
to account. This ill humour I could bear
patiently, but my mother's unkindne&longs;s is
wor&longs;e than a dagger to my heart. I live in
greater &longs;olitude than ever; I never go out,
and when any company comes to the family,

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I in general retire to my own room; for my
feelings are often hurt by the ignorant, I
had almo&longs;t &longs;aid inhuman que&longs;tions, that are
a&longs;ked me by people who have no other interest
in my fate, than as it &longs;erves to gratify
their curio&longs;ity. Next week I expect my brother
home from &longs;chool; he does not return
again, but is to be articled apprentice to a
merchant in London. I &longs;hall not be &longs;orry
when he is gone, for I expect to &longs;uffer greatly
from his unfeeling taunts. Oh! Celia,
heaven and you know how little I de&longs;erve
them; and that thought &longs;hall be my comfort
and &longs;upport. Adieu my friend.

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