heart quaking, mine, in a particular manner sunk, throbless,
and twice below its usual region, to once at my throat:--a shameful
recreant:--She silent too, looking round her, first on me; then on the
mother, no longer fearing her; then on Sally, Polly, and the culprit
Dorcas!--such the glorious power of innocence exerted at that awful
moment!

She would have spoken, but could not, looking down my guilt into
confusion. A mouse might have been heard passing over the floor: her own
light feet and rustling silks could not have prevented it; for she seemed
to tread air, and to be all soul. She passed backwards and forwards, now
towards me, now towards the door several times, before speech could get
the better of indignation; and at last, after twice or thrice hemming to
recover her articulate voice--'O thou contemptible and abandoned
Lovelace, thinkest thou that I see not through this poor villanous plot
of thine, and of these thy wicked accomplices?

'Thou, woman, [looking at the mother] once my terror! always my dislike!
but now my detestation! shouldst once more (for thine perhaps was the
preparation) have provided for me intoxicating potions, to rob me of my
senses----

'And then, thus, wretch, [turning to me,] mightest thou more securely
have depended upon such a low contrivance as this!

'And ye, vile women, who perhaps have been the ruin, body and soul, of
hundreds of innocents, (you show me how, in full assembly,) know, that I
am not married--ruined as I am, by your help, I bless God, I am not
married to this miscreant--and I have friends that will demand my honour
at your hands!--and to whose authority I will apply; for none has this
man over me. Look to it then, what farther insults you offer me, or
incite him to offer me. I am a person, though thus vilely betrayed, of
rank and fortune. I never will be his; and, to your utter ruin, will
find friends to pursue you: and now I have this full proof of your
detestable wickedness, and have heard your base incitements, will have
no mercy upon you!'

They could not laugh at the poor figure I made.--Lord! how every devil,
conscience-shaken, trembled!--

What a dejection must ever fall to the lot of guilt, were it given to
innocence always thus to exert itself!

'And as for thee, thou vile Dorcas! Thou double deceiver!--whining out
thy pretended love for me!--Begone, wretch!--Nobody will hurt thee!--
Begone, I say!--thou has too well acted thy part to be blame