deserted, were only confirmations of
the truth.

"Why should I paint the tempestuous fluctuation of my thoughts between
grief and revenge, between rage and despair? Why should I repeat my vows
of eternal implacability and persecution, and the speedy recantation of
these vows?

"I have said enough. You have dismissed me from a place in your esteem.
What I think, and what I feel, is of no importance in your eyes. May
the duty which I owe myself enable me to forget your existence. In a
few minutes I go hence. Be the maker of your fortune, and may adversity
instruct you in that wisdom, which education was unable to impart to
you."

Those were the last words which Pleyel uttered. He left the room, and
my new emotions enabled me to witness his departure without any apparent
loss of composure. As I sat alone, I ruminated on these incidents.
Nothing was more evident than that I had taken an eternal leave of
happiness. Life was a worthless thing, separate from that good which had
now been wrested from me; yet the sentiment that now possessed me had no
tendency to palsy my exertions, and overbear my strength. I noticed that
the light was declining, and perceived the propriety of leaving this
house. I placed myself again in the chaise, and returned slowly towards
the city.

Chapter XV

Before I reached the city it was dusk. It was my purpose to spend the
night at Mettingen. I was not solicitous, as long as I was attended by
a faithful servant, to be there at an early hour. My exhausted strength
required me to take some refreshment. With this view, and in order to
pay respect to one whose affection for me was truly maternal, I stopped
at Mrs. Baynton's. She was absent from home; but I had scarcely entered
the house when one of her domestics presented me a letter. I opened and
read as follows:

"To Clara Wieland,

"What shall I say to extenuate the misconduct of last night? It is my
duty to repair it to the utmost of my power, but the only way in which
it can be repaired, you will not, I fear, be prevailed on to adopt. It
is by granting me an interview, at your own house, at eleven o'clock
this night. I have no means of removing any fears that you may entertain
of my designs, but my simple and solemn declarations. These, after what
has passed between us, you may deem unworthy of confidence. I cannot
help it. My folly and rashness has left me no other resource. I will
be at your door by that hour. If you chuse to ad