s our neighbors."

Lucy turned upon him one withering look, in which might be read hatred,
horror, contempt; after which she slightly inclined her head, and
without speaking, for she had now become incapable of it, withdrew to
her own apartment, in a state of feeling which the reader may easily
imagine.

"Alice," said she to her maid, and her cheek, that had only a little
before been so pale, now glowed with indignation like fire as she spoke,
"Alice, I have degraded myself; I am sunk forever in my own opinion
since I saw that heartless wretch."

"How is that, miss?" asked Alice; "such a thing can't be."

"Because," replied Lucy, "I was mean enough to throw myself on his very
compassion--on his honor--on his generosity--on his pride as a man and
a gentleman--but he has not a single virtue;" and she then, with cheeks
still glowing, related to her the principal part of their conversation.

"And that was the reply he gave you, miss?" observed Alley; "in truth,
it was more like the answer of a sheriff's bailiff to some poor woman
who had her cattle distrained for rent, and wanted to get time to pay
it."

"Alice," she exclaimed, "I hope in God I may retain my senses,
or, rather, let them depart from me, for then I shall not be
conscious of what I do. Matters are far worse than I had even
imagined--desperate--full of horror. This man is a fool; his intellect
is beneath the very exigencies of hypocrisy, which he would put on if
he could. His infamy, his profligacy, can proceed even from no perverted
energy of character, and must therefore be associated with contempt.
There is a lively fatuity about him that is uniformly a symptom of
imbecility. Among women, at least, it is so, and I have no doubt but it
is the same with men. Alice, I know what my fate will be. It is true,
you may see me married to him; but you will see me drop dead at the
altar, or worse than that may happen. I shall marry him; but to live his
wife!--oh! to live the wife of that man! the thing would be impossible;
death in any shape a thousand times sooner! Think, Alice, how you should
feel if your husband were despised and detested by the world; think of
that, Alice. Still, there might be consolation even there, for the
world might be wrong; but think, Alice, if he deserved that contempt and
detestation--think of it; and that you yourself knew he was entitled, to
nothing else but that and infamy at its hands! Oh, no!--not one spark
of honor--not one tr