viction of my own
unworthiness, to persuade myself that I was regarded with the tenderness
that Stevens had ascribed to her, that the discovery of my thoughts
would not excite her anger and grief, I felt to be impossible.

In this state of mind, I could not see her. To declare my feelings would
produce indignation and anguish; to hide them from her scrutiny was not
in my power; yet, what would she think of my estranging myself from her
society? What expedient could I honestly adopt to justify my absence,
and what employments could I substitute for those precious hours
hitherto devoted to her?

"_This_ afternoon," thought I, "she has been invited to spend at
Stedman's country-house on Schuylkill. She consented to go, and I was to
accompany her. I am fit only for solitude. My behaviour, in her
presence, will be enigmatical, capricious, and morose. I must not go:
yet what will she think of my failure? Not to go will be injurious and
suspicious."

I was undetermined. The appointed hour arrived. I stood at my
chamber-window, torn by a variety of purposes, and swayed alternately by
repugnant arguments. I several times went to the door of my apartment,
and put my foot upon the first step of the staircase, but as often
paused, reconsidered, and returned to my room.

In these fluctuations the hour passed. No messenger arrived from Mrs.
Fielding, inquiring into the cause of my delay. Was she offended at my
negligence? Was she sick and disabled from going, or had she changed her
mind? I now remembered her parting words at our last interview. Were
they not susceptible of two constructions? She said my visit was too
long, and bade me begone. Did she suspect my presumption, and is she
determined thus to punish me?

This terror added anew to all my former anxieties. It was impossible to
rest in this suspense. I would go to her; I would lay before her all the
anguish of my heart; I would not spare myself. She shall not reproach me
more severely than I will reproach myself. I will hear my sentence from
her own lips, and promise unlimited submission to the doom of separation
and exile which she will pronounce.

I went forth to her house. The drawing-room and summer-house were empty.
I summoned Philip the footman: his mistress was gone to Mr. Stedman's.

"How?--To Stedman's?--In whose company?"

"Miss Stedman and her brother called for her in the carriage, and
persuaded her to go with them."

Now my heart sunk, indeed! Miss Ste