oad. Mr
Selvyn was a merchant, but had never been successful, his wife died when
you were about three years old. Having no children to provide for, and
not being fond of trade, he was desirous of retiring into the country.
Lord Peyton to facilitate the gratification of his wish, procured him a
small sinecure; gave into his possession three thousand pounds, which he
secured to you; and allowed him a hundred a year for the trouble of your
education; with an unlimited commission to call on him for any sums he
should want.

'The constant sense of my guilt, the continual regret at having by my
own ill conduct forfeited the happiness which every action of Lord
Peyton's proved that his wife might reasonably expect, fixed a degree of
melancholy on my mind, which no time has been able to conquer. I lived
with my father till his death, which happened not many years ago; at his
decease, I found myself mistress of a large fortune, which enabled me to
support the rank I had always enjoyed. Though Lord Peyton had provided
sufficiently for Mr Selvyn's and your convenience, yet I constantly sent
him a yearly present; till no longer able to deny myself the pleasure of
seeing my dear child, I prevailed on him to remove to London and to fix
in the same street with me, taking care to supply all that was requisite
to enable him to appear there genteelly. You know with what appearance
of accident I first cultivated a friendship with you, but you cannot
imagine with how much difficulty I concealed the tenderness of a mother
under the ceremonies of an acquaintance.

'Of late I have enjoyed a more easy state of mind: I have sometimes been
inclined to flatter myself that your uncommon merit, and the great
comfort I have received in your society, are signs that Heaven has
forgiven my offence and accepted my penitence, which has been sincere
and long, as an atonement for my crime; in which blessed hope I shall, I
trust, meet death without terror, and submit, my dear daughter, whenever
I am called hence, in full confidence to that Power whose mercy is over
all his works. I ought to add a few words about your dear father, who
seemed to think my extreme regular conduct and the punishment I had
inflicted on myself, such an extenuation of my weakness that he ever
behaved to me with the tenderest respect, I might almost say reverence,
and till his death gave me every proof of the purest and the strongest
friendship. By consent we avoided each other's p