y, since she married him only because
she imagined he loved and doated on her to distraction; for as
his person was but ordinary, and his age disproportioned, being
twenty-years older than she, it could not be imagined that she was in
love with him.--She was very uneasy at being kept a prisoner; but
her husband's fondness and jealousy was made the pretence. She always
loved reading, to which she was now more than ever obliged, as so
much time lay upon her hands: Soon after she proved with child, and
so perpetually ill, that she implored her husband to let her enjoy the
company of her sister and friends. When he could have no relief from
her importunity (being assured that in seeing her relations, she must
discover his barbarous deceit) he thought it was best to be himself
the relator of his villany; he fell upon his knees before her, with so
much seeming confusion, distress and anguish, that she was at a loss
to know what could mould his stubborn heart to such contrition. At
last, with a thousand well counterfeited tears, and sighs, he stabb'd
her with the wounding relation of his wife's being still alive; and
with a hypocrite's pangs conjured her to have some mercy on a lost
man as he was, in an obstinate, inveterate passion, that had no
alternative but death, or possession.

He urged, that could he have supported the pain of living without
her, he never would have made himself so great a villain; but when the
absolute question was, whether he should destroy himself, or betray
her, self-love had turned the ballance, though not without that
anguish to his soul, which had poisoned all his delights, and planted
daggers to stab his peace. That he had a thousand times started in
his sleep with guilty apprehensions; the form of her honoured father
perpetually haunting his troubled dreams, reproaching him as a traitor
to that trust which in his departing moments he had reposed in him;
representing to his tortured imagination the care he took of his
education, more like a father than an uncle, with which he had
rewarded him by effecting the perdition of his favourite daughter, who
was the lovely image of his benefactor.

With this artful contrition he endeavoured to sooth his injured wife:
But what soothing could heal the wounds she had received? Horror!
amazement! sense of honour lost! the world's opinion! ten thousand
distresses crowded her distracted imagination, and she cast looks upon
the conscious traitor with horrible