had been as harmless to all others as it has been to me!
that no injury to fortune and fame, and innocence and life, had been
incurred by others greater than has fallen upon my head! There is one
being, whose connection with him has not been utterly dissimilar in its
origin and circumstances to mine, though the catastrophe has, indeed,
been widely and mournfully different.

"And yet, within this moment, a thought has occurred from which I derive
some consolation and some hope. You, dear madam, are rich. These
spacious apartments, this plentiful accommodation, are yours. You have
enough for your own gratification and convenience, and somewhat to
spare. Will you take to your protecting arms, to your hospitable roof,
an unhappy girl whom the arts of Welbeck have robbed of fortune,
reputation, and honour, who is now languishing in poverty, weeping over
the lifeless remains of her babe, surrounded by the agents of vice, and
trembling on the verge of infamy?"

"What can this mean?" replied the lady. "Of whom do you speak?"

"You shall know her. You shall be apprized of her claims to your
compassion. Her story, as far as is known to me, I will faithfully
repeat to you. She is a stranger; an Italian; her name is Clemenza
Lodi."

"Clemenza Lodi! Good heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth; "why, surely--it
cannot be. And yet--is it possible that you are that person?"

"I do not comprehend you, madam."

"A friend has related a transaction of a strange sort. It is scarcely an
hour since she told it me. The name of Clemenza Lodi was mentioned in
it, and a young man of most singular deportment was described. But tell
me how you were engaged on Thursday morning."

"I was coming to this city from a distance. I stopped ten minutes at the
house of----"

"Mrs. Villars?"

"The same. Perhaps you know her and her character. Perhaps you can
confirm or rectify my present opinions concerning her. It is there that
the unfortunate Clemenza abides. It is thence that I wish her to be
speedily removed."

"I have heard of you; of your conduct upon that occasion."

"Of me?" answered I, eagerly. "Do you know that woman?" So saying, I
produced the card which I had received from her, and on which her name
was written.

"I know her well. She is my countrywoman and my friend."

"Your friend? Then she is good; she is innocent; she is generous. Will
she be a sister, a protectress, to Clemenza? Will you exhort her to a
deed of charity? Will you b