ally well that, should some freak of Fate endow me with
fame and fortune, they would be the first to receive me with open arms--
ignoring all my former social enormities.--Their tune would be slightly
different then!

It would be--"Dear me! how glad we are to see him back! You know, Mrs
Grundy, that you always said he would turn out well.--His little
fastnesses and Bohemian ways?--Pooh! we won't speak of those now:--only
the hot blood of youth, you know--signs of an ardent disposition--we all
have our faults;"--and so on.

No, I was not thinking much of "society's" opinion; but, of that of
others, whose good esteem I really valued. _They_ believed in me
still:--was I worthy of it?

I thought not.

I doubted myself. Understand, I had no fear of making any new false
step in the eyes of the world; or of plunging anew into the dissipations
and riotous living of so-called "life," in return for which I was now
eating the husks of voluntary exile: young as I was, I had already
learnt a bitter lesson of the hollowness and deception of all this!

It was another dread which haunted me.

The vicar had, without in any way making light of them, condoned my
misdeeds, telling me that there was more joy in heaven over one
repentant sinner, than for ninety-and-nine just persons that had never
offended: while, my darling--she who had the most cause to turn from me,
the greatest right to condemn--had forgiven me; and bidden me to look
forward to the future, with the hopeful assurance that she was certain
that I would never give her reason again to doubt her faith in me.

But, the fatherly affection of the one, the devoted confidence of the
other, merited some greater return on my part than mere "uprightness of
life,"--in the worldly sense of the expression! Surely, they did?

A man's words and actions may be above reproach, as far as society is
concerned; and yet, he may not have a particle of true religion about
him. Both the vicar and Min, however, were earnest Christians. They
were deeply religious, without a suspicion of cant or affectation; and
they wished me to be so, too. I had promised to pray to please them;
but, had I kept my promise? No, I had failed:--my conscience told me
so!

As long as things had gone smoothly with me, I believe I _did_ pray--
with the faith that my petitions were heard above; but, when dark days
came, God seemed to forsake me, and my prayers were cast back into my
own bosom. I might rep