nd reserve which you can
inflict.

"I am a married man, Eliza." "So I understand," said I; "and I hope you
will never treat your wife with that dissimulation and falsehood which
you have exercised towards me." "Would to Heaven," exclaimed he, "that
you were my wife. I should not, then, fail in my love or duty as a
husband; yet she is an amiable girl, and, had I a heart to give her, I
might still be happy; but that, alas! I can never recall." "Why, then,"
said I, "did you marry her? You were, doubtless, master of your own
actions." "No," said he, "I was not. The embarrassed state of my affairs
precluded the possibility of acting as I wished. Loving you most
ardently, I was anxious to prevent your union with another, till I could
so far improve my circumstances as to secure you from poverty and want
in a connection with me. My regard was too sincere to permit me to
deceive you by a marriage which might have proved unhappy for us both.
My pride forbade my telling you the motives of my delay; and I left you
to see if I could place myself in a situation worthy of your acceptance.
This I could not effect, and, therefore, have run the risk of my future
happiness by marrying a lady of affluence. This secures to me the
externals of enjoyment, but my heart, I fear, will never participate it;
yet it affords me some degree of satisfaction that I have not involved
you in distress. The only alleviation of which my banishment from you is
capable, is your forgiveness. In compassion, then, refuse it not. It
cannot injure you. To me it will be worth millions." He wept. Yes, Lucy,
this libertine, this man of pleasure and gallantly, wept. I really
pitied him from my heart. "I forgive you," said I, "and wish you happy;
yet on this condition only, that you never again pollute my ears with
the recital of your infamous passion. Yes, infamous I call it; for what
softer appellation can be given to such professions from a married man?
Harbor not an idea of me, in future, inconsistent with the love and
fidelity which you owe your wife; much less presume to mention it, if
you wish not to be detested by me, and forever banished from my
presence." He expressed gratitude for his absolution, even upon these
terms, and hoped his future conduct would entitle him to my friendship
and esteem. "That," I replied, "time only can determine."

One favor more he begged leave to solicit; which was, that I would be a
neighbor to his wife. "She was a stranger," he