with me of the particulars, I would have made an excuse to you
to have put off our voyage to Ireland for some time, and to have gone
first towards London.

'Then, my dear,' said he, 'I resolved to have confessed all the
circumstances of my own affairs to you, and let you know I had indeed
made use of these artifices to obtain your consent to marry me, but had
now nothing to do but ask to your pardon, and to tell you how
abundantly, as I have said above, I would endeavour to make you forget
what was past, by the felicity of the days to come.'

'Truly,' said I to him, 'I find you would soon have conquered me; and
it is my affliction now, that I am not in a condition to let you see
how easily I should have been reconciled to you, and have passed by all
the tricks you had put upon me, in recompense of so much good-humour.
But, my dear,' said I, 'what can we do now? We are both undone, and
what better are we for our being reconciled together, seeing we have
nothing to live on?'

We proposed a great many things, but nothing could offer where there
was nothing to begin with. He begged me at last to talk no more of it,
for, he said, I would break his heart; so we talked of other things a
little, till at last he took a husband's leave of me, and so we went to
sleep.

He rose before me in the morning; and indeed, having lain awake almost
all night, I was very sleepy, and lay till near eleven o'clock. In
this time he took his horses and three servants, and all his linen and
baggage, and away he went, leaving a short but moving letter for me on
the table, as follows:--

'MY DEAR--I am a dog; I have abused you; but I have been drawn into do
it by a base creature, contrary to my principle and the general
practice of my life. Forgive me, my dear! I ask your pardon with the
greatest sincerity; I am the most miserable of men, in having deluded
you. I have been so happy to possess you, and now am so wretched as to
be forced to fly from you. Forgive me, my dear; once more I say,
forgive me! I am not able to see you ruined by me, and myself unable
to support you. Our marriage is nothing; I shall never be able to see
you again; I here discharge you from it; if you can marry to your
advantage, do not decline it on my account; I here swear to you on my
faith, and on the word of a man of honour, I will never disturb your
repose if I should know of it, which, however, is not likely. On the
other hand, if you should not marry,